


The Shape of Regret

by Halzbarry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bartender Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Case Fic, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2018, Destiel in Maine, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hunter Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, M/M, Magic, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Post-Break Up, Qareen - Freeform, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Witch Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halzbarry/pseuds/Halzbarry
Summary: Two years ago, Dean walked away from Castiel after discovering his biggest secret—that he’s a witch. Since then, Dean’s spent his days hunting alone, filling the emptiness inside with sex, booze, and the next case.When he gets a desperate call for help from Castiel, Dean doesn’t hesitate to go. But things in the small Maine town aren’t what they seem, especially when he comes face to face with Castiel, who insists he wasn’t the one to place the call.Dean’s been given an opportunity to fix his past mistakes, but it means working alongside a very bitter Castiel, and Benny, a local deputy with knowledge of the supernatural, to figure out what’s plaguing Newport and why it all seems fixated around Castiel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe my tiny idea for a witch Castiel fic turned into this behemoth, but I'm so glad to say that this is done and I can share this with you. Thank you to the amazing [Throughxtheice](http://throughxthexice.tumblr.com) for the amazing art and being an amazing friends! Please give her blog Destiel blog a follow too! [Her Destiel Side Blog](http://heaven-in-his-arms.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also thank you to the awesome! [Captain Haterade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhaterade) for her awesome beta skills! This is fic is due mostly to her keeping me on track and making sure my fic made sense! I hope you all enjoy the fic! I welcome all your love and comments!

_**Two Years Ago** _

Castiel can count on one hand the number of times he’s driven the Impala since he met Dean Winchester. The Impala was Dean’s baby. He remembers the countless stories Dean would tell him about first learning to drive from his father, or the numerous things he’d done in the Impala.

Driving it was something Castiel never desperately wished for, but in those rare moments when Dean was either too tired, or simply just wanted to be nice and let him drive, he cherished it. Dean would tell him it was an honor even Sam rarely was given. To Castiel, it was just one of the few ways Dean would show how much he loved him, even if he never said it.

This was not one of those times.

“Cas… it hurts,” Dean groans from beside him. Castiel swerves the Impala down the road, his vision marred by the pouring rain and his own dizziness as he tries hard not to think about the dying man beside him. The dying love of his life.

“Dean, don’t talk. Just keep putting pressure on the wound. Please.” His words come out like a command, but it’s nothing more than a desperate plea. Dean’s body is weak and he’s lost so much blood; Castiel finds it a miracle that Dean is even conscious.

But every second is one less that Dean has to live and he isn’t sure what he’ll do if he loses Dean.

“Cas… just pull over, or something,” Dean mutters. His voice is wet, and the metal tang of blood fills the car.

“Dean, please. Just hold on a little bit longer.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Dean. Just keep putting pressure on it.”

He’s so worried if Dean will survive he hasn’t quite figured out how he’ll answer Dean’s question about how he killed roaming pack of werewolves if—no, when—he lives. Dean was already on the ground, bleeding out, when Castiel cast the spell in an uncontrolled fit of rage. Sparks of magic, the magic that set a whole pack of werewolves on fire, still reverberate throughout his body, but with those sparks comes the weakness. His body is weak. The adrenaline from his fit of rage is dying down but the feelings still linger. His memory of what happened is still blurry. All he can remember is watching a werewolf sinks its claws deep into Dean and Dean falling to the ground, gasping for air.

After that it’s black. 

The next thing Cas knew, the woods were on fire around him, even as the rain started to pour and the putrid odor of charred bodies filled his nostrils. He barely managed to get to Dean, who was in such a state of shock from the blood loss that Cas isn’t sure he even knew what was going on around him. 

Cas’ body isn’t used to using magic of that level. The remnants of the spell crawl through his skin like an itch he can’t scratch, and coupled with his distress at a dying Dean beside him, it’s a miracle the car has stayed on the road.

But Dean can’t die. He has to live. Cas doesn’t know what he’d do without Dean, and he’s not going to find out today.

The Impala swerves, hydroplanes, and nearly slips off the road a few times as Cas drives furiously, but his determination is eventually rewarded when their shoddy and dilapidated motel appears over the horizon though the pouring rain that has now given way to thunder and lightning. Even in this storm, there are a few people standing under the rusty awning smoking cigarettes as Cas swings the Impala into the parking lot.

Dean is pale next to him. His eyes are barely open and his breathing is haggard, every breath painful. There’s a shine as the blood continues to pour out. Dean’s too weak to put any pressure on it.

“Cas… m’cold,” Dean says. His voice is so calm, it brings a tear to Cas’ eyes. Dean deserves to live. When he remembers all the things Dean has suffered through, the death of his mother so young, and his father only years ago, he knows that Dean has to live. He has to live, to be happy, even if it means the secret Cas spent so long hiding from Dean comes out.

Cas shushes Dean and smiles. Smiles through the tears that fall down his cheek and onto the seat. “Please don’t talk, Dean. I’ll get you inside and warm you up.”

Dean swallows, coughs, and smiles all in that order. “You gotta smile, Cas. Don’t like it when you’re all serious like that.” Cas laughs bitterly, swallowing down the wrecked sob that threatens to betray him and escape. Dean is defiant as ever, even as he faces impending death.

Cas doesn’t answer him, and instead hurries out of the Impala, racing to Dean’s side door and helping him out of the car. Dean’s shirt is soaked in blood and it covers Cas’ hand as he moves Dean to his feet. Dean has no energy and Cas finds himself expending the last little bit of adrenaline he has left to support Dean’s weight, hoisting one of Dean’s arms over his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around Dean’s body to move them forward.

The smokers are probably watching. It’s too dark and rainy for them to see Dean and Cas as anything other than two guys who went out drinking and got wasted. Cas doesn’t care who sees or judges. All that matters is saving Dean.

When they’re in front of the door, he doesn’t bother to look for the key. Instead, he focuses on the door and lets the magic swimming around in his body concentrate itself into one mass again, in preparation for the massive amount he’s about to need.

“Aperta!”

The door to their motel swings open with a burst of magic, probably too much if Cas had to guess, but it gets the job done. He stumbles inside and kicks the door closed before falling to the ground when Dean has another coughing fit and becomes deadweight.

Dean’s coughs are wet and blood stains his teeth; Cas has even less time than he thought.

“Cas… just let me go. I’m so freakin’ tired. Ain’t nothing you can do,” Dean begs between gasps for air.

“No!” Cas growls defiantly as he pushes himself up on hands and knees. He’s glaring now, taking Dean’s request to die as a person affront. Dean’s selfless until the end, always putting others ahead of him. He’d spare Cas watching him slip away from life if it meant sparing Cas even an ounce of pain. It’s why Cas can’t let him leave this world. “Dean… I will save you.”

“Cas.” It’s all Dean can say, and it’s all Cas will listen to. It might be selfish, but he won’t grant Dean’s request to die.

Cas clambers to his feet and stumbles into their shared bedroom, searching desperately for his bag. The bed is a mess from their morning together. Only a few hours ago, Dean and he were nothing but a naked, entangled mess of limbs, basking in the post-coital glow. He can still feel the ghost-touches of Dean’s hands and lips on his skin. He can hear his laughter and cries as Cas had driven into him, begging to bring them closer together, determined to one day touch Dean’s soul the way he felt like Dean had touched his.

He shoos away the pleasant-but-paralyzing memories as he looks around for his duffel bag. When he finds it, tossed aside by the window, he digs into it fervently, pulling out a smaller brown cloth bag that he’s kept hidden from Dean. A little over two years together on the road, and Dean never discovered it, his brown sack of healing herbs and vials of potions that any skilled hunter would know belonged to a witch. At least the knowledge Cas’ mother passed down to him allows him to make these even without a spell book.

He dreams of one day telling Dean the truth. That the man Dean and his brother met a couple of years ago in the small town of Pontiac, Illinois, and the man who loves Dean more than his own self, is a witch. But he knows that it will end their relationship the moment Dean finds out.

He hears Dean cough again, each one sounding more painful and dire than the last. Dean has minutes, if even that. Cas’ hands tremble as he lifts the vial of healing potion, knowing full well what it represents. Using this potion and the spell will expose him.

It’s a small price to pay if it means Dean will live. It’s his happiness for Dean’s life, and there’s no comparison.

He hurries back to Dean and falls to his knees beside the dying hunter, watching as the light in Dean’s green eyes dims by the second. The life in Dean is almost gone, and the only color is in the blood that pools around his face.

“Dean! Dean! Stay with me, Dean. Please,” Cas pleads as he tears at the layers of Dean’s clothes, shredding the cloth in his way until he sees the deadly blow: four deep gash marks running from Dean’s chest down to his stomach. He’s positive Dean’s lungs are damaged. How Dean has managed to hold on this long is beyond him.

“Cas… lemme go.” Dean’s voice is barely audible, and Cas can’t stop the tears as he watches the remaining life ooze out of him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he cries.

Dean still finds a way to smile. “Not… your fault.”

Cas shakes his head. “Not that, Dean. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.” If Dean has the energy left in him to look confused Cas doesn’t see it. Instead, Dean keeps silent. Cas opens his palm to reveal the vial and quickly pulls out the stopper before inhaling sharply one last time. “Dean… please forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

He dumps the potion onto Dean’s wound and Dean howls in pain. There’s a sizzling as the potion seeps into Dean’s tattered skin. Dean spasms, his whole body jerking and shaking, and he groans and yells wildly as the potion works its magic and begins to hasten his body’s healing process. But the potion is incomplete without the spell, and he knows what that means now.

“Cas… Cas!” Dean cries out in agony, looking to Cas with a renewed life, but still so weak.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Just know that I love you, and I always will.”

Cas puts two fingers to Dean’s forehead and closes his eyes. “ _ Somnus _ .”

Dean’s body goes still and Cas watches as Dean’s eyes roll back before they shut entirely and Dean falls into a deep slumber. The potion is gone, fully absorbed into Dean’s wounds. Cas lets his hands hover right over the nearly fatal injuries while taking several deep breaths.

“ _ Spiritibus, audi me. Sana huic vir _ .” Cas feels a rush of energy inside him again. It’s powerful, like lightning is striking inside his body. Of all the time he’s used magic, today has been the hardest, because this magic is born of desperation. He focuses, shutting his eyes tight and willing the building energy to flee from his hands and out into Dean’s broken body beneath him. “ _ Redde hic confractum corpus _ !”

He imagines that the surge of magic coursing through him is like being chained to a comet. He feels as if his body is being dragged a million miles an hour alongside the escaping magic. The lights in the motel room flicker rapidly. The tiny television shuts on and off. His hands radiate an aura of teal blue as he holds them steady over Dean, concentrating on forcing the magic to stay within the boundaries he’s set and heal Dean. Sweat drips down his forehead and he finds that he’s not really breathing so much as gasping for any air he can get.

The magic… it’s fighting him. It’s the strongest magic he’s used since he chose to follow Dean. Now, it’s punishing him for all the years of neglect. 

But he will control it. He has to. 

He pours every ounce of willpower he has into subduing his magic to save Dean.

The lights in the room blow out one by one, sparks flying as the magic struggles harder against Cas, but he fights back, willing— _ forcing _ —it all into Dean. He growls one last time as he pours every last drop of his magic and his strength into Dean, hopefully to bring him back from the brink of death.

And just like that, it’s over.

Cas hands fall limp to his side. It’s total darkness inside the room. Glass is shattered on the floor all around them, from lights overhead and lamps beside the bed. The rain beats heavily against the windows. He faintly hears people talking, shouting,  _ panicking _ at what just happened. 

But more important than anything, he sees the small rise and fall of Dean’s chest.

The gashes are gone. There’s nothing left but the anti-possession tattoo Dean’s had ever since Cas met him. 

Cas collapses on the ground next to Dean. His body is mush. His bones and muscles scream in pain, but he does nothing but lie there, facing Dean. Dean looks at peace, and Cas can’t help but smile.

No matter what may come in the morning, whether he and Dean can discuss what happened or if he’s turned away by Dean for saving his life, he’ll at least know it was all worth it for this moment. To be able to see Dean breathing and at peace, smiling and devoid of any evidence of his close brush with death, is all that Cas will need when the sun rises tomorrow.

He takes that image with him into the darkness as he closes his eyes.

___________________________________________

Light pierces through the darkness, and Cas opens his eyes slowly, unsure of what he’ll open them to. All that magic escaping his body in one fell swoop after years of underuse, in some respects, should have killed him or left him a comatose mess.

But when he opens his eyes and sits up, he sees sunlight filtering into the motel room. He’s groggy and exhausted, his head is pounding, and every bone and muscle aching as though he’s been hit by a truck. He slowly looks around to survey the damage done to the room. Shards of broken light bulbs litter the floor. Some of the musty, old furniture looks to have been shoved out of place. Even the TV has been blown out. He recalls his mother’s warning of untamed magic when he was first learning. Even the smallest spell can level even a building if done incorrectly, and he’s never forgotten that piece of advice.

Castiel looks down to see if Dean is asleep still, but feels his heart skip a beat when he finds Dean is no longer on the floor. A small gasp escapes him as he begins to frantically look around, but when he turns he sees Dean standing, back against the kitchenette counter. Joy fills him, seeing Dean alive and well, but that joy quickly fades when Dean won’t meet his gaze, choosing to glower at the floor instead.

Dean is angry. Though there’s life in Dean’s bright green eyes, they are devoid of his usual warmth. A chill crawls up Castiel’s body as relief is replaced with fear as Dean scowls.

“Dean… I’m glad you’re okay. How do—”

“How could you lie to me?” Dean cuts him off, voice low and barely above a whisper. Cas can hear the hurt and betrayal in his voice, and it cuts deep, knowing it’s directed at him.

He tries to keep his face even, hoping to not giveaway his secret just yet. Maybe… just maybe Dean doesn’t remember anything. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Castiel knows his lie has been exposed. “Don’t lie to me, Cas. That forest caught fire and those werewolves all burned, and me… I should be dead.” Castiel can’t help the sharp inhale when Dean reminds him of last night. Dean pins him with a look of defeat and the small shake of his head, and Castiel knows.

“Dean, let me explain,” Castiel begs as he stands, ignoring his body crying out in pain.

“Explain what?” Dean growls, finally looking up at him with hate in his eyes. “How you lied to me for all these years about being a witch?” Dean moves closer now, stopping only an arm’s length away. Castiel knows better than to reach out to touch him, no matter how badly he wants to. “All this time, and you chose to keep that from me? You’re one of those things that we hunt and kill. How the hell can I trust anything you say?”

“Because it’s still me, Dean.” Dean finally meets Castiel’s eyes, but the too-brief moment, and Dean’s face is set in anger again. Castiel stands up, ignoring his body’s cries of agony. All sorts of emotions are swirling through his mind, but he focuses on the one thing he knows for sure. “I know your heart, Dean. I know you don’t trust anything supernatural, and that the supernatural is what killed your mother and father, but…” Cas looks down at the floor and inhales a sharp breath before turning to Dean with a steely determination. “I’m still the same man you fell in love with, Dean, and I’m still the same man that would give his life for you in a heartbeat. That hasn’t changed.”

Dean purses his lips and backs away almost immediately. “Everything’s changed, Cas.”

Castiel always wondered what it would take to break him, and somehow, he’s experienced all those things in the last twenty-four hours. He’s watched Dean, the man he loves, die slowly, and now, he’s watching that same man turn his back on everything they’ve shared together.

“Dean… I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you the truth, but… I was afraid of what you say about me.”

Dean stares him dead in the eyes, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he shakes his head slightly. The betrayal glimmers in his emerald eyes. The anger is quieted as he watches Dean blink and turn away from him. The ache in Castiel’s muscles is deafened by numbness as he realizes that Dean doesn’t believe him. He becomes desperate as Dean is about to take a step back.

“Dean!” That halts Dean, but he doesn’t look at him again. The sobs threaten to give away the desperation raging inside him. He feels like he’s hyperventilating, but what comes out are quiet, desperate, barely audible breaths. “I’ve watched too many good men die and burn on a funeral pyre. When I watched that werewolf sink its claws into you, I… I couldn’t imagine watching your body up on one, too.” Dean’s lip quivers just slightly, but he remains indignant, refusing to let his scowl budge.

“So, what? You could kill me yourself?” Dean’s nostrils flare and there’s rage again in his eyes. Castiel knows it’s not the fact that he’s a witch, but rather the lies. When he opens his mouth to protest, Dean cuts him off as he continues his rant. “I told you everything, Cas. I let you get close to me, to Sam.” Dean’s jaw is clenched even tighter now as he stops to think. His fists are clenched tight, and his body is rigid with confusion and hurt. “I’ve seen witches murder freaking kids for looking at them wrong. Every witch I’ve come across has been a selfish monster, Cas. And then I find out that the guy who I’ve been traveling with for all these years is one of them, too.” Dean pauses, breathing in to temper his growing rage. “Just… why, Cas?”

“I chose to lie to you about who I am because I love you, Dean,” Castiel answers swiftly, his voice almost a yell. “You may not believe me, but I swear I never once thought to hurt you, or Sam. I have and would use everything at my disposal—magic or not—to keep you both safe.”

Dean’s nostrils flare, the words Castiel says seem to be too much for him. He shuts his eyes, keeping his lips pursed tight.

“I won’t regret what I did, and won’t apologize for who I am. I love you, Dean, and that’s all that matters.”

Dean shakes his head again. “Cas, I loved you, but you lied to me. I mean… you’re the very same thing that we’ve spent all these years hunting together, and all this time, it was just a lie.”

“It wasn’t a lie!” His words come out indignant, but he can’t listen to Dean think that his witch heritage means their time together is just a lie. “I may have lied about being a witch, Dean, but I love you. You’re the only reason I turned my back on everything I knew.” Castiel lets a tear fall down his cheek, but his sadness is met with indifference. “Please… Dean, just let me explain.”

Dean swallows, then licks his lips. “Cas, I can’t trust a witch. I’m sorry.” The hurt and betrayal on Dean’s face belies the callous indifference he attempts to portray, but none of that matters as Dean brushes past Castiel.

“Dean… please,” Castiel pleads as he turns around, but the moment he does, Dean has his gun pulled and aimed at him.

“Cas… stop.” Dean’s hand is shaking as he keeps his gun aimed at him, but Castiel can see his finger isn’t even on the trigger. This is only to scare him, a symbol that it’s over. “I left some money and a couple of cards in the bedroom next to your stuff. I don’t care where you go, but it can’t be with me.”

“We can fix this, Dean.”

Dean lowers his gun and Cas sees one tear fall down his face before he steps towards the door. “Take care of yourself, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t protest anymore when the door opens and slams with Dean disappearing on the other side of it. His body goes numb as he hears the roar of the Impala, and he falls to the ground broken and destroyed as he hears the engine roar get farther and farther away.

He’s alone.

Once upon a time, he had a coven, and then he just had his mother. And then he had Dean.

And now he only has himself.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Present Day** _

“So, what do you say?”

Dean downs the shot of tequila. It burns going down, but he welcomes the feeling and lets out a large sigh of relief. In front of him, the bartender, a gorgeous brunette who’s been supplying him with enough liquor to knock a lesser man on his ass, waits for him to answer. She’s bent down over the bar, just enough that her cleavage is on full display as added temptation.

“Ah, what the hell,” Dean answers with a lazy smirk and a shrug.

She smiles and winks at him before disappearing behind a door marked for employees only. He knows she’s expecting him to join her back there and they’ll fuck somewhere or back at her place. Either way. He can use the stress release.

It was just one angry ghost terrorizing a playground full of children and parents, and he’s looking for a way to relax and let loose. Tomorrow, he’ll be on the road again. He doesn’t have a place to call home, and despite the case being practically in Sam’s backyard, he isn’t much in the mood for crashing on his baby brother’s couch. That would mean listening to more pleas for him to give up hunting.

So instead, he figures a one night stand and a few hours of sleep in a bed that’s not in a shitty motel won’t kill him. After that, he’ll regroup and move on like he always does.

Just as he’s about to get up, his phone vibrates in his pocket. The only people who have this number are Sam, who he texts his number to every time he changes phones, and a few hunters he hits up every so often for back-up. But when he fishes his phone out of his pocket, it’s a number he’s never seen before.

Part of him assumes it’s just a telemarketer. The sneaky bastards somehow find his number even though he changes phones more than underwear sometimes. Frustrated at this sudden interference, he begrudgingly answers the phone, covering his other ear to drown out the boisterous yelling and cheering from the other bar-goers.

“This is Dean.”

There’s static on the other end, and a piercing screech that nearly makes him drop the phone. But through the noise he hears someone’s voice.

“Dean… Dean.”

Dean feels his throat constrict. It’s hard to breathe and the room is starting to spin a little. He feels like he’s the only one here. His name is deep and raspy coming from the voice on the other end of the line, and it’s unmistakable.

“C…cas?” Dean asks, body locking up tight.

There’s silence, and for a moment Dean wonders if he was just hearing things. Then the static dies down and the voice he hears on the other end is very much Cas’.

“Hello, Dean.”

Fuck, he really wishes he ordered another drink because he needs to be drunk if he’s going to talk to Cas for the first time in almost two years. He’s acutely aware that Cas shouldn’t have this number, but he’s too shocked by Cas’ voice to even give it any further thought.  

“Cas… I—uh—wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“Dean… need… help,” Cas says again, static noise returning to chop and mangle his words  as he speaks. Still, Cas’ deep voice is able to cut through it enough that Dean is at least able to make out that Cas is asking him, of all people, for help.

“With what, Cas?”

“Monster… murder… need… help.” The static doesn’t fade away like before, and he’s stuck trying to parse out what Cas is asking for in between waves of static and ringing. Hearing ‘monster’ and ‘murder’ has his heart racing. Is he in trouble? Is he dying? Even after a year and a half, his mind still wanders to the same places whenever it comes to Cas. The static is terrible now, and he can feel his ear aching from his refusal to put the phone down. Cas’ voice is lost in the noise and now Dean is truly scared.

“Cas? Cas!” he cries out, getting nothing but static in return. He gets up without a second thought and bursts out of the bar, unconcerned about paying his tab or leaving the bartender alone and waiting in the back. Before he realizes it, he’s in the Impala, the phone still glued to his ear, his heart racing.

“Cas, answer me, goddamnit!” he growls. His emotions are in overdrive. He’s scared. He’s angry. Fuck, he’s just about everything right now.

“Dean… help.”

Suddenly, the static is gone and Dean pulls the phone away to see the line is dead. He redials Cas’ number, but the second he does there’s another loud, piercing screech before the line cuts dead again.

“Cas! Pick up your fucking phone!”

He furiously digs the key to the Impala out of his jacket pocket and sticks it in the ignition. He’s not sure where he’ll go, but Cas calling and asking for help has Dean wanting to go to him—wherever the hell he is. Before he can turn the car on, he hears his phone jingle. He moves as though his life depends on it, snatching the phone up to see a message from the same number and he stares for a second before opening it.

 _Newport, Maine_.

That’s all it says.

He tosses his phone in the seat next to him and grips the steering wheel like a vice. Something inside him screams not to go. He and Cas haven’t talked in years, and there’s still the pressing question of how the hell Cas got his number. There was no urgency in Cas’ voice. Just words. But he knows that voice too well. It couldn’t have been anyone but Cas.

He cranks the Impala and backs out recklessly, unconcerned for the people he nearly hits as he speeds out of the parking lot. He knows it’s reckless going up there alone, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

He doesn’t know where Newport is, but he’ll figure it out. He knows it’s a full day’s drive to Maine. He silently prays to whatever fucking God is out there listening that Cas is alive when he shows up. Even after two years of radio silence, he’s still not sure what he’d do if he lost him.

 

*****

Dean’s exhausted by the time he’s passing the five miles to Newport sign. His phone is about dead because he keeps calling Cas only to get a generic voicemail message. He’s lost track of how many times he’s wanted to punch the windows of the Impala out, but he can’t do that to her. Instead, he focuses on what he’s going to say or do to Cas when he sees him. He’s stuck between a solid punch to the face or cussing him out for scaring the shit out of Dean. All he knows is that Cas better be alive when he gets there.

He makes one last attempt to dial the number back, but as every time before it just keeps ringing.

“Dammit, Cas. Answer the phone.” Finally, the voicemail message starts playing and Dean bangs a fist against the steering wheel angrily until the phone beeps for him to record his message. “Cas, you asshole. I drove all the way up here to find you, so the least you could do is pick up your damn phone. Call me!”

He hits end before the words bubbling in his stomach can escape. He knows that he doesn’t really have much of a right to be angry with Cas. Yes, in two years of hunting and sleeping together on and off, Cas could’ve told him he was a witch. But then, Dean remembers exactly how he’d reacted when Cas had chosen to sacrifice his secret  to save Dean’s life.

God, he still regrets everything he said and did that night, but he’s had two years to move on, and he figures Cas had too. But now Cas sought him out to help out with his monster problem. Maybe there’s hope yet.

He’s only a few miles outside of town when the Impala’s engine starts making a strange noise. Of-fucking-course.

“No—no, c’mon, Baby!” Dean growls. But it’s no use as the Impala starts slowing down. “Sonuvabitch!” he yells slamming on the steering wheel again. He had just finished giving her a quick tune-up after the last salt and burn, so he can’t imagine what the problem could be now. All he knows is that he’s definitely sending Cas a repair bill when he finds that asshole.

It’s pitch black when Baby coasts to a stop on the side of the empty road, but the moon shines large and full. He fishes a flashlight and his gun out of the glove compartment before getting out and popping the hood. All around him he can hear nothing but the sounds of crickets and leaves rustling through the forest. He’s dealt with worse as a hunter, but still he finds himself unsettled because he knows that *something* is here, but not what. Cas wouldn’t have called him over just any little thing. Cas is a hunter and a witch. That combination alone makes him deadlier than Dean could ever hope to be, and yet, Cas still called him for help. That means something.

As he scans underneath the hood he knows that he’ll have to fix the engine up. A small repair should cover him at least until he can get to Bobby’s when this is all over and do a large-scale repair. Hopefully, Newport has a repair shop where he can do a quick patch up.

“You’d better be fucking alive for this shit, Cas.”

The rustling gets louder and he feels a chill creep up his body. He’s been around the block enough to know that it’s not just from the cool, crisp autumn night. Playing it cool, he slowly trails one hand down to where his gun is sheathed in the holster on his hip, doing his best to let whatever’s watching him think that he’s focused only on the engine.

The sound of leaves crunching creeps closer to him. He waits for the right moment.

In a split second, something leaps at him out of the corner of his eye. He draws his gun and gets off one shot, earning him a piercing screech from something that is definitely not human. It’s too fast to avoid and slams into him. He hits the ground, all the air expelling from his lungs on impact. His flashlight and gun go flying from his hands and there’s a piercing pain in his shoulder as what feels like claws digs into his flesh. No amount of struggling and fighting knocks the monster off. Resigned to his fate, he looks up at the glowing red eyes staring menacingly down at him. The fluorescent marks on what looks like dark skin makes him think it’s a djinn.

The roar of a motor fills the air, followed by a blinding light. Everything's a blur after that. A gunshot rings out, he’s deafened by another piercing scream from the beast, and suddenly its weight is gone. Several more gunshots fill the air, followed by shrieks and curses that Dean can’t make out. His shoulder is searing now, and there’s a spreading wetness. He opens his eyes and a burly man is the first thing that pops into view.

“Get up!” the man demands, a hand outstretched for him to take. Dean accepts the help and the man hoists him up. For a moment he’s disoriented, his vision blurry from the impact and the light from the vehicle. “You alright, brother?” the man asks, steadying hands on his shoulders.

Dean’s vision clears after a moment. The man in front of him is wearing a police uniform, and beside them is his cruiser.

“Yeah. Fine,” Dean mutters.  

The man shakes his head. “You’re anything but fine, brother.” The cop looks down to examine the wound and whistles. “You’re real lucky that’s all you got. I’ve seen the real damage something like that coulda done to you. Still, that’s a nasty one.”

“Wait? You know what that thing is?” Dean asks, and groans when the gouges in his shoulder sting worse as he moves.

“Don’t know what it is, but I know it could’ve done a lot worse to you than it did. But, hey, we can talk later. We gotta get you to a doctor,” the cop says.

“No! No doctor. Gimme some vodka and a few painkillers and I’ll be good.”  He’s groggy enough that it takes a second to realize just how suspicious that should sound, especially to a cop, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all.

“I gotcha. Still, that’s gonna need somethin’ more than just vodka and quick patch-up. I know a guy that I can take you to.”

Dean’s stomach drops. The guy’s a cop who just caught Dean nearly being mauled to death by something inhuman, and yet he doesn’t seem even the least bit fazed. This is either a stroke of pure luck, or Deans about to die. Either way he’s got no choice but to go with him.

“Yeah—alright,” Dean relents.

The man smiles. “C’mon, I’ll drive.” Dean looks to the Impala, but is dragged along to his cruiser. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one of the fellas back at the station to get it.”

Dean feels his muscles clench at the thought of her having to be towed but he knows he’s liable to crash if he tries to drive at the moment, so, he lets the officer push him into the front seat of the cruiser.

They drive in silence for the first few miles, Dean more focused on ensuring he doesn’t bleed out from what feels like holes in his shoulder. The cop’s attention is on the road, but as the town comes into view he turns to Dean with a half-smile.

“Name’s Benny by the way.”

Dean slowly turns to him, his head heavy and neck stiff. “Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet ya, Dean,” Benny smiles. They pass the into town then, the moon still high in the sky. “The guy I’m taking you to, he’s not your usual medic.”

Dean laughs quietly. “He a combat medic or some shit?”

Benny laughs, too, and shakes his head. “Nah, brother. He’s—uh—something else. Something not normal. But I got a feeling you’re used to seein’ things that aren’t normal.” Dean’s speechless, but Benny shoots him an amused grin. “Don’t worry. You and I got something in common.”

Talking to Benny helps take his mind off the pain in his shoulder and the fact that he’s bleeding all over a stranger’s car, so he keeps it going. “You a hunter or something?”

“Nah. Just know things. Wish I didn’t though. Life as a cop is hard enough as it is. Knowing there’s shit out there that a gun won’t kill don’t help things.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Dean agrees. He feels himself smiling, but like a bolt of lightning he remembers Cas. Is that thing what Cas called about? Is Cas alright?

“Keep talkin’ to me, Dean. Gotta make sure you’re alive over there,” Benny says. His tone is playful, but Dean can hear the worry underneath.

“I’m fine. Just talking in the sights,” Dean laughs, masking the flare of pain he feels in his shoulder. It’s beyond what claws normally feel like, as if someone’s stabbed several holes straight through his shoulder. The bleeding hasn’t stopped and he’s pretty sure the car seat is beyond repair. Hopefully Benny won’t make him pay for the damage, because it’s been a minute since he’s done any hustling. Maybe he’ll scope out a place here once he gets this shoulder thing taken care of. _If_ he gets it taken care of.

Benny’s driving faster now, his attention focused solely on the road ahead of them.

“Alright, why don’t you tell me what brought you to Newport,” Benny asks, no longer trying to hide his fear that Dean may die in his car.

Dean snickers at that. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing here. “Got a call from an old friend and here I am. Wasn’t expecting to get mauled on my way up, though, so that was fun.”

Eventually, Benny will grow tired of his jokes, but after the last brush with death, he’s promised himself that he would go with the flow and not freak out.

“And this friend lives up here?”

“Apparently,” Dean answers with a shrug. Benny gives him a look, silently demanding that he keep going. “Got a call out of the blue from him asking for a favor. We didn’t... part on the best terms. In fact, I figured I was the last person he wanted to see.”

Benny nods. “But you still came anyways, huh?”

Dean looks out at the town. It’s a nice town. Picturesque, like something you’d see on one of those postcards in gas stations. Cas sure did pick a good place to settle down. He’s surprised when Benny stops in front of a bar that has clearly seen better days.

The parking lot is empty. Has Benny forgotten that he’s bleeding out over here?

“We’re here, brother. Think you can hold on for a bit longer?” Benny questions.

“I’ve been through worse. I won’t turn down a drink if you’re offering,” Dean teases.

“Maybe some other time. Let’s get you inside.”

Dean tries to get out of the car himself, but the sudden movement leaves him dizzy and nauseous, nearly stumbling to his knees had Benny not been there to catch him. Whatever the hell that thing was, it did a real fucking number on him.

“Geez, brother. Slow down,” Benny cautions, slotting himself underneath Dean’s arm. Together they stumble through the parking lot. “Listen, this guy—he’s a little odd and he’s probably not someone you’d normally trust, but I know he’ll take good care of you.” Dean doesn’t doubt him. He doesn’t know Benny from a hole in the wall, but the guy’s trying to save his life, so what has he got to lose at this point?

When the doors to the bar open, the nausea worsens. The fog in his head is thicker now, and he’s positive if the blood loss won’t kill him than the surprise of seeing Cas for the first time in two years, cleaning glasses behind the counter of an empty bar might, wearing what he swears is one of his old flannel shirts—one he’s been wondering where it’s gone to. Glossy, blue eyes look up from the counter and freeze on him and Benny, and he’s positive Cas’ gaze is burning a bigger hole through him than the one in his shoulder.  

Benny looks between the two of them, but if he notices anything odd he doesn’t say it.

“Got a little problem here. Think you can help?” Benny directs at Cas.

Dean sees Cas swallow the lump in his throat, and he smiles. Smiles through the pain. Smiles through the loneliness. Smiles with genuine relief.

Clearing his throat with a small cough, Dean waves, “Hey, Cas,” before promptly blacking out.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s vision is blurry when he opens his eyes. He blinks a couple of times, still not sure if he’s alive or dead. The last thing he remembers is dying and seeing Cas for the first time in two years, which doesn’t exactly help with the question of where he is currently. His body is stiff as he sits up in a strange bed. Definitely still alive though. Wherever he is, it smells of something strong, like plants and cinnamon—not an unpleasant scent, but something his nose isn’t sure how to react to.

Faint sunlight filters in through a nearby window. He’s in someone’s home—their bedroom, if the furniture and clothes scattered across the floor are anything to go by. A cold wind from the cracked window makes him shiver and he realizes that he’s shirtless. Immediately, his hand flies to his shoulder, gliding across scabbed over skin. The sting is minimal, but the damage is still there. Still, it’s worth a little pain to not feel like he’s on the brink of death.   

He looks around and sees no one, but he can hear something—music? With a deep breath, he swings he legs over the side of the bed and wills himself to stand. His legs quiver under the stress but they steady after a few moments of standing and breathing.

When he feels confident he can move without collapsing, he walks towards the door and the soft sounds. Opening the door, he freezes. He’s staring at Cas moving about in the kitchen. That earthy scent is stronger in here, and Zeppelin’s ‘Traveling Riverside Blues’ plays on an old radio sitting the window sill.

When he closes the door, Cas looks up from where he’s stirring something in a pot on the stove, and Dean isn’t sure he’s ever felt so naked, especially with a man who’s already seen him naked— _many times_. Cas’ eyes are wide and Dean’s positive he sees him swallow and ball his hands up nervously.

“What? No ‘good morning’ or ‘nice to see ya’?” Dean teases with a laugh.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets, dropping his eyes. His voice is deeper and richer in person, and Dean hates how his heart beats harder hearing him. Despite his internal elation, he senses Cas’ anxiousness. Guilt pools in his stomach, twisting it into knots. It shouldn’t be like this—it never should have. “You shouldn’t be up yet,” Cas chides.

“Nonsense. I, uh, feel fine.” He takes a few more steps into the living room to make his point, but stops abruptly when he nearly steps into the white circle drawn on the floor. Several half-melted candles surround it, their wicks nearly burnt out. Bloodstains paint the floor inside the circle and Dean knows immediately that it’s his. A bowl of murky, pungent liquid sits beside it, and Dean’s reminded that he’s in the presence of a witch. He shuts off his brain before he can replay the memories of the first time he discovered that.  

Cas, despite his clear discomfort at being alone with him, moves towards Dean, stepping over the remains of his recent ritual and into Dean’s personal space. Cas studies him, or rather studies his shoulder where he was stabbed by… whatever the hell that thing is.

“I take it you’re the one who patched me up?” Dean asks.

Dean thinks he almost sees an uptick of Cas’ lips, but Cas keeps his expression even and unreadable. “Yes. It was fortunate Benny brought you to me when he did. I still need to finish the healing. I was only able to remove the poison, not heal the wound.”

Lovely. He always likes being reminded of how many times he should have died. Right now, he’s batting a pretty high average of near-death situations, even for a hunter. “Guess I owe him a fruit-basket,” he mutters with a chuckle. He’s not prepared when Cas glides a firm, calloused hand across his shoulder. “Whoa, Cas. Warn a guy next time.”

Cas retracts his hand just as quickly, and Dean feel his skin tingle from the absent touch. “My apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize about.”

Cas returns to the kitchen and takes whatever’s cooking off of the stove, stirring it a couple more times. Dean swallows a lump when Cas puts his hands on the steaming pot and doesn’t scream in pain. He’s only seen Cas use magic once before, so to see it now is—odd, and Dean bites down on the surge of anger. He’s not sure where to direct this anger though. Cas? Himself? The universe? Cas  pulls two cups from the cabinet and pours the contents of the pot into them before bringing one to Dean.

“Before I can finish healing you, you’ll need to drink this. It will restore your vitality enough for me to finish the spell,” Cas explains, handing him the cup. The dark liquid is the source of the woodsy aroma wafting in the air. He sniffs at it suspiciously, only mildly concerned that he’s going to insult Cas. Dean huffs and says a silent prayer before wrapping his lips around the cup and swallowing the liquid that he expects to be hot, but is surprisingly lukewarm. It’s not horrible, like an herbal tea. The taste is both sweet and bitter as he swallows, savoring the shocking cool rush that confuses him as he feels the liquid go down. It’s just another reminder that Cas is a witch and can me make the impossible real.

“Alright, so what’s next?” Dean questions.

Cas directs him to his couch, something old and ragged that looks surprisingly comfortable. “Lie down on your back.” Dean nods and lays down while Cas waves his hands at the bowl on the floor, using his powers to drag it to him. “Please be still,” Cas demands. Dean tries, but can’t help turning to watch Cas, who drops to his knees and dips his hands in the bowl. It smells like alcohol of some type. Cas places his dripping hands right over Dean’s injured shoulder and takes a deep breath. “Mahday, eelohtah sahn. Serloh, eelohtah.”

Dean feels the magic— _feels Cas’ magic_ —coursing through him. It feels like being electrocuted, only there’s no pain, just the paralyzing tingle. He feels the magic concentrating in his injured shoulder and suddenly there’s the throbbing warmth of his body repairing itself, the skin stitching itself back together, all while Cas’ glowing hands hover over him. But it’s all gone when Cas drops his hands.

Dean slowly reaches for his shoulder, finding no trace of his wounds. No one has ever used magic on him before—as a hunter he knows it should terrify him, and it does. But this is **Cas**.

Cas, who is currently slumped over, is bracing himself on the edge of the couch. Dean’s jerks himself upright and wraps an arm around Cas’ shoulders.

“Cas, you alright?” Dean asks with a concerned frown.

Cas breathes heavily, regaining his composure and shrugging Dean’s hand off, but Dean see the ashen cast to Cas’ complexion.

“I’m fine. The spell simply requires more magic than I’m accustomed to using,” he grumbles, staggering slightly as he stands up.

“Like hell you’re fine,” Dean counters as he reaches to brace Cas’ elbow. “Here let me hel—”

“I said I’m fine, Dean.” Cas throws a glare his way and Dean finally remembers that he and Cas aren’t friends—or anything—anymore. He doesn’t have the right to worry about Cas like this.

Dean swallows and nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Cas lets the anger dissipate from his face and points towards the tiny kitchen table. “Your clothes are over there. I washed your shirt and jacket late last night. You’ll need someone to stitch them up for you.”

Dean remembers he’s shirtless and, for both his and Cas’ sake, goes and puts them on. He doesn’t have to turn to feel Cas following his every move, and he wishes more than ever that things weren’t like this between them.

“So—that… uh… didn’t sound like your typical Latin,” he says, hoping to fill the silence that’s crept between them.

“It’s Sumerian,” Cas answers simply. “The healing spells I normally use would have been ineffective in treating your wounds.”

Dean makes a noise of agreement and nods. He’s clearly lingering, but Cas is the one who called him out of the blue, so he figures Cas should be the one to finally break down and tell him what’s going on.

“Dean… why are you here?”

That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

“Come again?” Dean asks.

“Dean, we haven’t spoken in nearly two years. I don’t know how you even found where I lived. I have a right to know why you showed up at my place of work bleeding to death.”

There’s anger seething underneath the surface of his skin. He didn’t just drive all the way to Maine for Cas to act like this.

“The hell are you talking about, Cas? You’re the one who called me! You called me up, yelled about a monster and scared the hell out of me, so I drove all the way over here just to get attacked by one!” To further prove his point, Dean whips his phone out and pulls up the text message from Cas. “Look, this is from you!”

Dean sees it. A brief flicker of shock and maybe fear in his eyes. Cas hides it quickly and tilts his head while squinting his blue eyes in confusion, but Dean knows it’s feigned. “That’s not my phone number. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean, but there’s never been a monster here in Newport until Benny told me you were attacked by one.”

Dean snorts derisively. “Does it matter? Fact is, you got a monster problem and either you or someone who sounds exactly like you called me up here to take care of it.”  

“How many times do I have to tell you that I haven’t attempted to contact you? I haven’t tried at all since you threw me out of—” Cas doesn’t finish and Dean’s thankful. A flicker of hurt crosses his expression before he turns away from Dean. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Dean, but it’s best you leave.”

“And just leave that thing hiding out around town? You saw what it did to me, Cas. You think I can just walk away from that?”

“Yes, you can!” Cas snaps. Dean takes a step back in shock and Cas’ nostrils flare as he pins Dean with a disdainful look not unlike the last one he gave Dean before he was thrown out of Dean’s life for nearly two years. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a witch _and_ a hunter. If there’s something here, I’ll find and kill it myself.” Dean has no reply to that and stands silently, his jaw clenched while he watches Cas retrieve a piece of paper from the kitchen counter. “This is Benny’s phone number. He said to call him when you’re ready to get your car. After that you should be good to leave.”

Dean swallows and takes the piece of paper. There’s nothing else he can say or do right now to make things any better with Cas. He made his mistake and Cas seems fine without him.

“Alright. Well—thanks, Cas—for everything,” he says as he goes to the front door. He doesn’t turn and look back at Cas out of fear of seeing indignant eyes looking back at him. When the door closes behind him, he’s positive he hears a whispered, “You’re welcome, Dean,” but he chalks that up to the last glimmers of hope in his heart.

*******************************

Leaving Cas’ house, a quaint little one-story house right on the edge of town, he realizes just how much it fits him. He remembers all the times they would lay in bed and Cas would tell Dean of his desire to settle down in a small town like this, away from hunting. He’s not sure if that meant away from witchcraft too. He is sure, though, that those plans had included them getting a house. That was before before he threw Cas out in a fit of rage.

It’s only a decent walk from Cas’ house to the Newport police station. He would’ve called Benny to see if he could hitch a ride to get the Impala, but he had to get out of Cas’ house. It was suffocating being there and seeing the damage he’d done firsthand. Cas is every bit as amazing now as he was before, and it hurts knowing Cas hasn’t forgiven him, but if Dean was in Cas’ shoes, he isn’t sure he’d forgive himself, either.

He’s been walking for a little over an hour, but it lets him clear his mind. What’s he going to do once he gets the Impala back? He wants to respect Cas’ wishes and leave town, but he’s also got a bone to pick with whatever the hell that thing was that nearly killed him. As he walks inside the police station, a quiet building sitting on the corner of a quiet street downtown, he’s still no closer to deciding.

“Can I help you?” the woman at the front desk asks as he walks in.

Dean smiles and leans an arm on the counter. He’s not sure why he’s trying to charm her. Maybe for the thrill of it. Maybe to take his mind off Cas somehow. “Name’s Dean and I’m looking for Officer Lafitte.”

The lady doesn’t have time to respond before Dean hears the bell above the entryway and turns to see Benny is walking in behind him.

“Well, whaddya know. I was just about to go looking for ya,” Benny greets, grinning and shaking hands with Dean.

“Yeah, well, Cas gave me your number so I figured I’d save you the trip and come down myself.” He says Cas’ name, but he’s hoping that Benny doesn’t press him on it. After all, he’s pretty sure Benny’s now aware that there’s some history between the two of them.

“You didn’t have to do that, brother,” Benny laughs, folding his arms. “But since you’re here, you hungry? Figure we could grab a bite before I take you to your car. My treat.”

In the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn’t take Benny up on his offer. He’s better off getting Baby and getting out of here, but he can’t say no to the man who saved his life.

“Yeah, I could go for something to eat.”

“Sounds good.” Benny looks over to the lady at the front desk and winks. “Tell the sheriff, I’ll be back in an hour.” After that he looks to Dean, still smiling, and Dean wonders whether he’s simply pushed everything that he saw last night out of his mind, or if he’s high on something. “You ready?”

“Always ready for food,” Dean answers. He follows Benny out to his cruiser and notices the bloodstains he’d left on the seats are now gone.

“Cas worked his magic for me. Turns out witches have some good cleaning tricks,” Benny laughs.

Dean has nothing to say to that, at least not with other people around, so he tables it until they’re in the car and off to whatever place is Benny’s taking him to eat. Now that it’s bright outside and he’s not dying, he can appreciate the town a little more. There’s a quaint, beauty to Newport, especially in the fall.Even in the middle of the day, the town, as small as it seems, is active. The leaves of the trees are all various shades of red, orange, and yellow, and people line the streets, walking to and from the various stores.

“So, how are you feeling?” Benny asks, distracting him from his silent gazing.

“Better. Cas—uh—he worked his magic on me.”

There’s a silence that falls between them and Dean knows the question hanging in the air. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but, you and Cas,” Benny finally starts, “Is there a history there?” Dean rubs a hand over his mouth, and tries to formulate an answer, but nothing comes to mind. “I take it he’s the old friend you didn’t part on good terms with.”

Dean takes a deep breath, but continues looking out the window. “Yeah. He and I—we go way back.”

Benny doesn’t press him on it further, and focuses on the road until they turn into what looks like a diner. Once the two of them are seated in the corner with menus and coffee, Dean truly starts to wonder what Benny’s after. He knows when someone wants something, and Benny clearly wants something.The diner is empty save for a few older people and the staff. It smells heavenly, but maybe he’s just used to diner food now.

Taking a sip of coffee, Dean puts the cup down and shoots Benny a serious glance. “So, what’s this all about?”

He expects Benny to act surprised that Dean’s being so straight with him, but Benny surprises him with a laugh. “Guess I was that obvious, huh?” Dean doesn’t answer, and Benny takes that as a sign to keep going. “I was hoping that I could twist your arm into helping me out with something.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that and takes another sip of his coffee. “You saved my life and you’re paying for lunch, so I guess I can hear you out.”

The waitress comes and takes their order before Benny can reveal what it is he’s after, and every second Dean’s mind races with curiosity.

“Obviously, you remember that thing that attacked you last night.” Benny starts after the waitress is out of earshot.

Dean snickers, reflecting on memories of last night’s near-death encounter. “Yeah, don’t think I could forget it if I tried.”

“Well, I was hoping I could get you to help me investigate it.”

That gets Dean’s attention. He was already debating whether or not to go after that thing himself, especially after Cas made it clear he’s not welcome here, but Benny’s invitation could be the excuse he needs. “So, you need me to gank whatever that thing is,” Dean says, assuming he has it all figured out.

“More than that, brother,” Benny answers, surprising him again. Benny takes the first sip of his coffee since they’ve sat down, and worry creeps into his face. “Weird things have been going around here. I’ve lived here for over ten years, and the things that have been happening around here aren’t normal.”

“Oh yeah? What are we talking?”

Benny sighs before swallowing it down with another gulp of coffee. “I’m talking murders, disappearances, weird sightings. It ain’t normal, brother.”

He knows a case when he hears one, and given that something’s already tried to kill him, what Benny’s telling him cements it. But then there’s Cas. If something supernatural really is here, why doesn’t Cas seem convinced?

“Sounds like you got your hands full. Have you—uh—talked to Cas about it?” he asks.

The waitress brings their food out, and as much as Dean wants to hear Benny’s answer, he’s also dying to dig into the burger and fries laid out in front of him. Benny silently agrees, and they table their conversation for a few minutes while devouring their food. Dean’s only slightly embarrassed at how quickly he puts away his food while Benny laughs at him in between bites of his breakfast platter.

“Cas didn’t think it was anything to worry about,” Benny says after a few minutes, his meal half-gone.

“Doesn’t sound like Cas,” Dean replies, and it’s all he can say because the Cas he remembers didn’t leave anything to chance, especially not a monster.

“I don’t know? Could be Cas thought I was accusing him of being involved. Guess it’s kinda hard not to when you’re the only person in town who questions why weird things are happening.”

He wonders how Benny found out Cas was a witch, bitter that Cas may have told Benny upfront versus hiding it for so many years like Cas did with him.

He swallows the question down with the coffee he’d ordered, mentally prepping himself for what he’s about to get himself into. “So, Cas doesn’t think it’s anything. What do you think?”

Benny chuckles. “I think whatever’s going on is above my pay grade. We got three open cases, one as recent as two months ago, and no amount of logical human reasoning can explain it.”

“And coupled with that thing that nearly stabbed me to death, you think we’ve got a classic supernatural case on our hands,” Dean finishes.

Benny grins. “So, can I count on you to help us out?”

There’s something off about this whole thing. It’s a feeling that nags at him like an itch underneath his skin. Maybe it’s fear of the unknown. He’s never seen a monster like that, not in all his years as a hunter.

Or maybe it’s Cas. If he stays, he knows they’ll cross paths again, and deep down that’s what he wants. If he can tell Cas he’s sorry about everything, maybe that would change things between them. Either way, he knows he’s stuck in Newport for a while.

Then there’s the phone call. Cas seemed genuinely confused when he showed him the text. If it’s not Cas, then someone or something wants him in Newport, and knows enough about him to get him here. He’s worried for Cas. If who or whatever was on the other end of that call can sound just like Cas, there’s no telling what it can do to either of them. He’s not going to let that happen.

“Alright. You got yourself a deal.”

He and Benny shake hands, and Dean pushes the voice in his head saying ‘what have you done’ out of his mind, at least for the time being. 


	4. Chapter 4

After they leave the diner, Benny takes Dean on a quick tour of the high points of Newport before wrestling the Impala free from the impound lot. 

By the time they’re done, Dean’s exhausted, which is how they’d end up at the Newport Bed & Breakfast. Posing as an FBI agent, Benny scores him a free room under the guise that Dean’s in Newport to help with an investigation. 

“Alright, let’s see what we got.” Dean is spread out on the bed, flipping through the files  of unsolved or suspicious cases that Benny thinks may be related to something supernatural. Benny is kicked back in a chair beside the bed. There’s four victims across two cases: a dead police officer found washed up on the beach at the edge of town, a woman found weeks after she went missing who died from hypothermia, and, most recently, a couple who were brutally stabbed. Examining all the cases, none of them have anything in common, which makes Dean wonder why Benny thinks they’re the work of something supernatural. 

He whistles as he stares at the autopsy report of the deceased woman in the last case. Numerous stab wounds cover her chest, right where her heart should be. The photos are gruesome, blood pooling around her body and her face contorted into a scream. He’s lucky things like this don’t bother him. 

“Happened a couple of months ago. This guy, Shane Welch, has an affair with a married woman, Whitney Ackerman. Whitney ends up murdered in her home one day. People suspect it was her husband or her lover,” Benny comments with a sigh. 

“Seems like a simple case,” Dean notes as he flips through the file. Still, stabbing a man thirty times doesn’t seem all that normal. 

Benny shakes head. “Here’s where it gets weird. We had one eyewitness that put Welch at Ackerman’s house at the time of the murder despite several eyewitness accounts that put him at his job when she was killed.” 

“Damn. What about the husband?”

“Rock-solid alibi. Several people confirmed he was at work.” 

The bells start to go off in Dean’s head now. “The same person in two different places, huh? Sounds like a shifter to me. What happened to him?” Dean asks, pointing to Shane Welch’s autopsy. It’s just as gruesome as the woman’s, murdered in the exact same way—stab wounds littering his chest. 

Benny whistles. “Coroner ruled it a murder. Weird thing though is that the only DNA on the knife belonged to him and the wife. Couple days after he died, we talked to some friends who said he’d been actin’ real weird. Kept saying he could see her. They thought he was out of his mind. Next thing you know, he killed himself.” 

Dean has no doubt it’s a shapeshifter, and his mind wanders back to that thing that attacked him last night. Was that the shifter in its true form? 

“And this one?” he asks, skipping over the dead cop for now. 

“Lady’s name is Daphne Allen. She up and goes missing for two weeks last winter and comes back near death, asking for someone named Emmanuel. Died of hypothermia the next day. Not sure if it’s related or not, but somethin’ about it never sat right with me.” 

Dean swallows and closes the case file. Even though there’s nothing obviously supernatural, he can’t help but agree with Benny that something about it seems off. He can’t rule out a shifter, but he gets the feeling there’s something even more sinister going on. He grabs the final case file on the drowned police officer. “I—uh—take you might’ve known him?” 

When he looks over to Benny, the cop is staring at the wall and there’s a glimmer in his eyes. Dean wonders for a moment if he’s going to cry, but Benny blinks and the glimmer is gone. 

“Officer Andre Keys. Real good guy. One of the best cops Newport ever had, and… my last partner.” 

Dean inhales sharply and struggles to find the words to say, so he looks to Benny and settles on, “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Benny tries, ineffectually, to hide his sadness behind a small smile before shrugging. “It’s been about a year now. I miss that idiot and I just want him to rest easy.” 

Dean looks back down at the file. The body is bloated like you’d expect a drowned body to be. “Says here the coroner ruled it a suicide,” he says, breaking the moment of silence.

Benny shakes his head and his body goes rigid—Dean’s touched a nerve. “I knew my partner,” Benny snaps. “He wouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t like that. He may have had his demons, but he wouldn’t have quit like that. Something got to him.” Benny argues, voice louder now, but not much. It’s unlike the cop he’s been acquainted with so far, but it’s no different than a hunter losing a partner.  

As bad as he feels for Benny, Dean also realizes that this puts a hitch in his theory of a shifter. The coroner doesn’t note any signs of a struggle on the report. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Benny that this one doesn’t fit his theory.

“I’ll start researching tonight. I figure we can start asking around town tomorrow?” Dean suggests, in part because he’s ready for alone time. As cool a guy as Benny seems, he’s ready to process this whole thing on his own. Not to mention that he hasn’t called Sam in a few days so Sam’s probably a little on-edge right about now. 

“Yeah, sounds good, brother. I figure we can start with the husband. Hasn’t gone too far since his wife died.” Benny gets up and heads to the door. “You sure you’ll be alright?” 

‘Alright’ is a relative term. Nothing about this situation is alright, but he nods anyway and shoots Benny a smile. “I’ll be alright. Hey, I survived getting mauled to death, didn’t I?”

Benny chuckles quietly to himself, but he doesn’t look convinced. “You sleep tight, Dean.” 

When Benny closes the door, Dean feels a weight lift. He nearly died not even twenty-four hours ago, and he needs some time to process that and coming face to face with Cas for the first time in two years. 

But per usual, he starts with the task that requires the fewest emotions and grabs his phone to text Sam. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greets when his younger brother finally picks up. 

“Hey, Sammy. Figured you’d be too busy buried in your books to pick up,” Dean jokes. 

“I took the night off,” Sam answers, and where Dean is expecting some long-winded response he gets just a short reply. 

“You taking the night off? What did you do with my brother?” 

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam bites back, but Dean can envision the affectionate smile on his face. 

“Bitch.” 

Dean considers opening the laptop and doing some research while on the phone with Sam, but he knows better. He’ll accidentally let slip what he’s doing and worry Sam. As lonely as it is without him, he also doesn’t want to be the one to pull Sam back into the life either. 

“So, where are you now,” Sam asks, finally breaking the silence. 

“Uh—Newport, Maine.” 

“Wait, Newport? Why are you up there of all places?” 

“Oh, you know, wanted to see the leaves change color, get an authentic lobster roll. You know the usual,” Dean says. 

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Dean,” Sam dead-pans. 

“I know. I’m hilarious,” Dean quips, smirking as though Sam is standing right in front of him. It makes him miss his brother even more, though, he’ll never admit that to Sam’s face. 

“Seriously, Dean. What’s in Newport?” 

Now he knows what he’s doing. He’s acutely aware that Sam asks where he is and what he’s doing it’s to keeps tabs on him and what he’s hunting. He has no doubt that if Sam feels he’s in over his head he’ll come up in a heartbeat. He’s lucky that there’s not much in the way of headlines in Newport about what’s going on. 

“Nothing, Sammy. Just following a small lead is all. I promise,” he lies. 

There’s another brief silence and Dean wonders if Sam isn't even trying to hide the fact that he’s looking up Newport and any strange occurrences in the area. “What lead are you following?” 

“Don’t worry about it. You keep your nose in the books and I’ll handle the hunting.” 

“Dean—”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Dean interrupts. Sam is silent and Dean feels another prick of guilt poke at him. “Look, Sam. You got out, alright? And I sure as hell ain’t gonna be the one responsible for dragging you back in.” 

There’s finality to his words and he knows it. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too much like their dad—no room for arguments—just do what he says. He doesn’t hold it against Sam that he chose to give up hunting for something simpler like finishing college and going to law school. Hell, he’s always wanted something better for him. Doesn’t change the fact that not having him along on hunts is pretty fucking lonely 

“Alright, Dean. I get it,” Sam says. He doesn’t sound defeated, but tired. The fight’s changed, but in some ways, it’s still the same. Sam knows he can’t convince him to quit hunting, so he settles for hoping that Dean will ask him back to hunt, but Dean never will. “Just know, if you ever need me, I’ll be there as soon as you call.” 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Ain’t no mountain high enough and all that jazz, right?” Finally, Sam makes a noise of amusement and he figures now is a good time to end the call. “Anyways, I—uh—got a long day tomorrow, so I’m gonna turn in soon.”  

“Yeah, I should probably turn in soon too.” 

“I’ll call in a day or so when I’m heading out. Kay?” Dean supplies, knowing Sam will bitch if he doesn’t get a solid check-in time frame. Sometimes, he’s just like their dad. 

“Yeah, sounds good, Dean. Night.” 

“Night, Sammy.” 

He ends the call and tosses his phone on the nightstand before stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers and turning the lights out. He’s about ready to pass out for his usual four hours, but something eats at him. He grabs his phone again and opens his texts, scrolling back to the one from Cas or so he thought. 

He remembers Cas’ face when he showed him the text and he knows there’s no reason for Cas to lie—well about something as small as a text. And if he did lie, why bring him all the way up here just to dismiss him? 

He knows he probably won’t get a response, but that doesn’t stop him from typing out one last message to the number before closing his phone and going back to sleep. 

_ Who the hell is this?  _

 

*****************

 

The continental breakfast is one of the best he’s had in years. He’s also the most rested he’s been in ages. As he shoves another half of a bagel into his mouth, he futilely scans the pages of the Newport Examiner for anything related to the cases. As he expects, there’s nothing. 

His phone buzzes and he wonders if it’s the mysterious number that brought him here. But it’s just Benny, texting a location to meet: a real estate place one town over. It’s odd, but Dean doesn’t question it because he’s itching to get started, already suited up with his fake badge in hand. More than anything, he’s ready to put this case behind him and get out of here. The longer he stays, the harder it will be to walk away from Cas again. 

He’s already finished doing a quick inspection of the Impala, and found nothing that would’ve caused her to break down like she did the other night. As he cranks her up again now, she sounds perfectly fine. Satisfied, he pulls out and drives off to the location Benny sent him. 

He parks in front of a generic office building. Benny’s cruiser is not too far down and he sees the cop get out just as he arrives. 

“Morning, officer,” Dean greets him with a grin.  

Benny whistles and gives Dean a quick once-over before patting him on the back. “You clean up nice for an FBI agent.”  

“So, what’s the deal?” 

“Whitney Ackerman’s husband works in real estate, selling condos and beach houses. He moved his office after his wife’s murder. I called him up and told him we were possibly re-opening his wife’s case. Didn’t seem too thrilled, but he agreed to answer your questions, sans attorney.” When they get inside, they ask the receptionist for Dale Ackerman’s office and are led through. They get a couple of glances, but still considerably less than Dean would expect for a small-town office. People in these places are usually desperate to get the dirt on their co-workers, neighbors, and even friends. 

When they knock they’re given the ok to enter and Dean comes face-to-face with Dale Ackerman, a slightly greying and balding man decked out in a nice suit. 

“Mr. Ackerman. These are the gentlemen here to see you,” the receptionist announces. 

“Right. Come in, come in,” Ackerman says, scampering up from his desk and nearly knocking aside the papers on his desk in his rush to greet them.

The receptionist leaves, closing the door behind her, and Dean pulls out his badge and flashes it at the man. “I’m Agent Neil Young with the FBI, and Officer Lafitte and I wanted to ask you a few questions about your wife’s murder.” 

“Of course. Have a seat,” Ackerman agrees, pulling up two chairs for both Dean and Benny. 

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Dale,” Benny says. “We called in Agent Young to help investigate some of the open cases we have back in Newport, and he was interested in your case in particular.”

Ackerman sighs and leans back in his chair. “I gotta say, I was scared when Benny here called and said the FBI wanted to talk to me about Whitney’s murder.” 

“I assure you, we’re not here to make any accusations, Mr. Ackerman. Just need some clarification,” Dean assures Ackerman seems seems a bundle of nerves, but the warning signs aren’t going off in Dean’s head yet. “Mr. Ackerman, were you aware your wife was having an affair with Shane Welch?” 

He’s surprised when Ackerman doesn’t react strongly to the question. In fact, Ackerman, at most, seems resigned. 

“Yes.” It’s not the answer Dean expects, but he keeps his face calm. “Whitney and I… we didn’t exactly have a loving relationship.” 

“Care to elaborate?” Dean asks, an eyebrow shooting up now. 

Ackerman scratches his face and pulls at the collar of his shirt. “Whitney and I married young and tried to make it work, but it just didn’t. Problem was, we both came from families that didn’t believe in divorce, so we... ”

“Stayed married on paper and got her kicks elsewhere,” Dean supplies. 

Ackerman nods. “We agreed to see other people on the condition it stayed anonymous. She saw other people and so did I.”  

It’s Benny who seems bemused by the information based on eyebrow raise. “You left that part out of the last investigation.” 

“I couldn’t just say that out loud!” Ackerman exclaims, sitting up in his chair with his body rigid. He swallows and calms, but his body is still tense. “I would’ve been crucified if it had come out that Whitney and I weren’t “respecting the sanctity of our marriage.” After Whitney was murdered, I couldn’t eat or sleep without the press showing up. People in town swore I had something to do with it, even after the police cleared my name. I had to move towns just to escape.” 

“And just to reiterate, you didn’t kill your wife or Shane Welch, right?” Dean interrupts. 

Ackerman narrows his eyes and huffs as he sits back in his chair. “No. I didn’t. And I’ve got several people who can verify that I was halfway across town in my office when she was murdered. And I’ve got receipts that can prove I was out of the state when Shane Welch was murdered.” 

Everything Ackerman says is further evidence that it’s a shifter behind this. But why would a shifter make it so obvious that Ackerman couldn’t have killed either of them? 

“Do you think Shane Welch murdered your wife?” Dean questions. 

Ackerman sighs. “I can’t say that the poor bastard did. Guy had nothing to gain or lose by killing her. He wasn’t exactly exclusive with her, either.” 

“You mean he was sleeping with someone else behind her back? You know anything about who else he was seeing?” 

“I—uh—hired a private investigator to follow him a couple nights.” Dean pins him with another curious glance, and Ackerman throws his hands up. “Look, we had a rule. No affairs in the house. People around Newport talk and it would’ve killed my business. About a month or so before Whitney died, I had my suspicions she was wasn’t respecting the agreement, so I hired a PI to follow them around. Turns out not only was he sleeping with my wife, he’d had been hooking up with some guy who worked at some dive bar.” 

Dean swallows around a lump growing in his throat. He really hopes this isn’t heading in the direction he suspects it is. “Can you—uh—describe this guy? Or the bar?” he asks, gears in his head spinning wildly.

Ackerman thinks for a moment. It’s a long-shot, but Dean prays Ackerman’s memory doesn’t confirm what he’s thinking. “The bar was this shoddy place on the edge of town. I only went there once. The guy, though, I don’t know. The investigator said he lived close to the bar.” 

Dean can’t help but wonder if it’s Cas he’s talking about. His stomach starts to churn and roll, and he’s not sure which of the myriad of emotions he’s experiencing is causing it. 

“I think we’ve got all we need. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ackerman,” Dean announces. 

“Of course,” Ackerman says. Ackerman leans forward, raising an alarm in Dean’s brain. “You’re a breath of fresh air after the reporter who came by earlier.” 

“Reporter?” Benny inquires. 

“Yeah. James Milton. He was with the Camden Gazette, writing about unsolved murders here in Maine. Pretty tactless for a reporter, though. Felt like I was being interrogated.” 

Ackerman continues talking, but Dean tunes him out. He knows that name too well. When they worked cases in the past, Cas always did stick with that one. And it confirms his suspicions that the person at the bar sleeping with Welch was Cas. 

“Agent Young,” Benny calls out, snapping Dean out of his daze. 

Dean blinks a few times and he remembers that he’s  still in Ackerman’s office. “Sorry, I—uh— zoned out there for a minute.” Benny’s eyes narrow in concern, but Dean smiles and shrugs his concern off. “Thanks again for your time, and if you think of anything else, gimme a call.” 

Dean finds an empty slip of paper and writes his number down on it before sliding it towards Ackerman. 

Afterwards, he makes a hasty exit from Ackerman’s office and out into the parking lot. His thoughts are racing, all relating to Cas and the fact that he’s clearly chasing the same information they are. Cas did say he could handle whatever is going here himself, so it shouldn’t be as surprising that he’s tracking down leads himself. 

“So, we got a mystery reporter on our hands?” Benny says, breaking the silent tension raging inside Dean. His tone implies that he’s aware Dean knows who it is, but he doesn’t give him a look that demands answers. 

“Looks like it. I may have an idea who it is too.'” He figures it’ll be better to confirm it’s Cas and figure out his motive before he tells Benny. The last thing he wants is to start a literal witch hunt against him. 

Benny looks down at his phone and sighs. “Damn. Gotta head back to the station. Still got a lack of manpower after losing Andre. Think you can handle the investigation while I’m gone?

Dean smiles and nods. “You got it. I’ll start looking around and see what I can dig up on the case and our so-called mystery reporter. I’ll fill you in on what I find later? Maybe over some beers?” 

Benny smiles before heading back to his cruiser. “Sounds like a plan, brother.” 

Dean watches Benny rev the engine to life and head back towards the station, but his attention is already focused on chasing down Cas. 

Someway, somehow, Cas is involved, and Dean has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that this case is about to get a lot worse. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean isn’t sure what he’s going to say to Cas, so he takes his time making his way back to Cas’ house. His mind is racing and not even stopping for a burger and fries helps calm him down. It’s too early to start drinking, but he still considers an emergency sip from the flask in the trunk. Pulling up in front of Cas’ house, the knot in his stomach has turned into a stone because he knows how confronting Cas will go. It’ll play out just like that night two years ago—when Cas told him what he was, and Dean called him a monster. 

He sits in his car and stares at Cas’ front door. It should be simple: get out, knock on the door, and ask Cas a few questions. Instead, he’s sitting in his car with crumbs all over his suit and a multitude of what-if questions floating around in his brain. 

“This is stupid,” he grumbles and slams his hands against the steering wheel. Levering himself out of the Impala, Dean brushes the crumbs off before walking up to Cas’ front door, muttering a litany of curses under his breath. 

There’s no sign that Cas is home, no sign of traps or anything that a witch might use to preemptively check out visitors and otherwise keep them away. He’s not convinced they’re not there, though. Cas was always careful. 

There’s no car parked in the little makeshift driveway to the side of his house. Dean didn’t bother to get a good look when he left yesterday, but he has no doubt Cas is still driving that same pickup he used to. Cas was never one to change things unless he had no choice. 

Finally, he knocks on the door. When Cas doesn’t come to the door he knocks again, this time a little bit harder. “Cas! We need to talk!” There’s no response still, and he stops himself from pounding on the door when he hears a noise that sounds, oddly, like a cat meowing at him. On Cas’ porch a black cat looks up at him with golden yellow eyes. He immediately covers his nose, willing the cat to not come any closer for fear of his allergies kicking in.

The cat doesn’t move, just stares at him, but now he feels a second set of eyes on him. He turns to see an older lady, probably mid-to late-fifties, walking her dog and staring at him curiously. 

“Are you looking for Castiel?” she asks. 

“Uh—yes, ma’am. Just need to ask him a few questions,” Dean answers, smiling to ease any fears she might have about why a man in a suit was pounding on her neighbor’s door. 

“Is there a reason you’re looking for him?” she asks. He hears the apprehension in her voice, and realizes it’s probably better to avoid the government-official route lest that tip Cas off that Dean’s coming for him. 

“We’re—uh—old friends. I was passing through town and hoping to surprise him,” he lies. The old lady seems to soften a bit at that, but not enough that he’s sure she’ll tell him. “I was hoping to see him and catch up, even if it’s just for a bit.” 

She smiles at Dean and walks up with her dog, a surprisingly big German Shepherd that doesn’t go near the cat or even look in its direction. The cat comes closer and rubs up against her, but its eyes stay pinned on Dean. It’s worth having the cat so close if it means he’s won the lady over. Thank God for small town folks and their easy-to-gain trust. 

“Castiel usually starts his shift at Jesse’s about this time. It’s right down the road. It’s only a few minutes from here. You can’t miss it.” She kneels down to scratch the cat’s ears. “You know, Bee doesn’t really like strangers, but he sure seems to like you.” 

“Bee?” 

“Oh yeah. He’s a stray… or so we thought. When Castiel moved in, Bee moved right on in with him.” 

Dean starts to back away as Bee shrugs off the lady’s hand and takes a step towards him. The cat’s moves are cautious but poised, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that Cas’ cat is getting a feel for him even from a distance.  

“Well, good to know I’m likable and all that but—uh—cats and I don’t really get along.” Bee meows again and Dean takes that as his cue to make his way back to the Impala. “Thanks for your help!” he calls out from behind the wheel before driving off down the road. 

As he drives, evening sunlight breaks through the clouds and illuminates the outskirts of town.  Dean gives himself a moment to take in the view. It’s been a while since he’s been to a place where the leaves actually change color in the fall, and the whole town is painted fiery colors, with fallen leaves all over the place. The buildings radiate an old charm, wood trimmed with bright colors. He can see why Cas chose to live here. It’s quiet, it’s pretty, and it sure as hell beats shitty motels in Podunk towns. 

He pulls up in front of Jesse’s, and the bar’s shoddy appearance is still leagues better than some of the ratholes he’s frequented in the past to unwind after a hunt. There’s more cars here now, including Cas’ pickup, and Dean can’t help but smile at that. It’s comforting to see that Cas hasn’t changed. Except they aren’t at all like they used to be, and that hurts. 

But Dean’s got a job to do, so he steps out into the brisk, autumn air and adjusts his suit and tie before steeling himself to come face-to-face with Cas again. Pushing inside, the bar is dim, but not obscure. Some patrons are drinking at the bar or in booths, while others play pool on the tables in the back. But rather than focus on them, his attention is glued to Cas. He’s standing behind the bar, engrossed in conversation with a man who is leering at Cas in a way that has Dean’s blood starting to boil ways he’s not allowed to feel anymore. 

Cas notices him, though, and Dean’s not sure which one of them is more uncomfortable. The other man turns towards him now and Dean’s pretty sure he’s never wanted to punch someone in the face more. The man is objectively handsome —that preppy, rich-boy look to him—with neatly styled, short blond hair and a suit that puts Dean’s off-the-thrift-store-rack suit to shame. But it’s not the way the man looks that makes him so punchable, but the smirk, as though he knows all about Dean and isn’t the least bit threatened. 

Dean remembers the case, though, and ignores the heavy feeling in his legs and moves forward. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything here,” Dean says, grinning now. Cas’ expression is unreadable, while the other man seems intrigued as he studies Dean. Dean produces his fake badge and flashes it at both Cas and the stranger for good measure. “Agent Neil Young with the FBI, and I need to ask you a few questions.” 

He’s not sure if Cas will play along, and he doesn’t have a back-up plan if Cas does call his bluff. 

To his surprise, Cas lets the unreadable look fade away and directs a glare of irritation at Dean. When he turns back to the other man,  his look is warmer and Dean hates the guy even more for it. 

“I’m sorry, Bartholomew, but I should handle this,” Cas apologizes. 

“It’s alright, Castiel. Wouldn’t want you in trouble with the law. I’ll excuse myself.” The man—Bartholomew—takes the drink sitting in front of him, throwing one last smirk Dean’s way before excusing himself from the bar. 

When he’s gone, Dean sees the glare return to Cas’ eyes, blue with fury and anger, and Dean remembers how temperamental Cas can be, especially when he feels wronged. 

“I told you to leave,” Cas hisses. His voice is low, making sure that no one else can hear. 

“No can do, Cas,” Dean answers, leaning on the bar to get closer to him. He feels a bit of relief when Cas doesn’t back away from him. “Look, something is going around here, and whether you wanna believe it or not, someone or something lured me up here and nearly killed me.” 

It takes a moment, but eventually Cas glare lessens. “Fine. Give me a second and we can talk.” Dean nods, and Cas disappears behind a set of doors only to return a few moments later, this time followed by a gorgeous woman. 

When her eyes fall on Dean, she smiles brightly, and Dean can’t help the flirty grin. 

“I’ve got to see this ‘dashing man in a suit’ that’s dragging my sweet Castiel away.” She stops and gives Dean a once-over, slow and lingering. “Looks like it must be my lucky day,” the woman greets. Cas cringes and starts to blush at that, and Dean can’t help but smirk. The tank top she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination, but Dean’s been around enough people to tell that while this woman is a free spirit, she isn’t one to be messed with. 

“Only need him for a minute,” Dean promises with a smile. 

“Don’t worry. I know how to share. Besides, it’s not every day that a handsome FBI agent comes walking into my bar. But you’re not here to flirt. You’re here to ask Castiel about an old case, right?” That surprises Dean, and he feels his face morph in shock. 

“How—uh—did you know that?” 

The woman just laughs, and it’s a cute laugh, but it does little to assuage Dean’s worry. “Call it a sixth sense,” she answers cryptically. She puts a hand out for him to shake which he does hesitantly. “Pamela.” 

“Agent Neil Young with the FBI.” 

“Neil Young, huh? Like the rockstar?” she teases. 

Dean smiles, but he’s on edge now. “Uh—yeah. You a fan?” 

Pamela shakes her head with a chuckle. “Not particularly, just don’t run across a lot of men with that name.” There’s something about her that screams danger. And it’s not just the fact that she knew he was here about either. “Listen to me blab on, though. You’re here for Castiel, so he’s all yours. Don’t keep him too long.” 

“Will do, ma’am.” He looks to Cas, who’s watching the two of them talk from behind the bar. “Cas—can we talk?” he asks. There’s a small part of him that can’t get away from Pamela fast enough. He can tell she’s reading him, and he gets the distinct feeling she’s peering into his head. The other part of him, though, is clawing at another chance to talk to Cas alone.

Cas moves from behind the bar and meets Dean on the other side. “We can talk back there,” Cas says motioning to an empty table in the back of the bar before walking off, not bothering to wait for him. 

“Good luck.” Dean turns to see Pamela wink at him before putting two bottles of beer of the counter for him. Free beer aside, there’s definitely something up with her. He nods his thanks, but Pamela is already off dealing other customers, giving Dean an opportunity to grab the beers and make a hasty escape.

He weaves through the tables, glancing around, taking in the faces of the bar’s patrons, some looking back at him while others are turned away, engaged in something else. Bartholomew is one of the faces that stands out, silently sipping away at the drink in his hand while following Dean with his eyes. He doesn’t fit in here. The people here are rougher, more outcasts than anything else. Bartholomew is man of high society; his suit is a dead giveaway. Dean’s not sure why, but something about the man nags at his brain. He thinks on it while returning Bartholomew’s smarmy gaze with his own. 

On the surface, there’s no reason to dislike like the guy (other than pure jealousy, but Dean pushes that thought down). But just like Pamela, he gets an inexplicable bad feeling about him.

Cas has picked the farthest table in the bar to sit down at, and it keeps them well out of earshot of the nearest group of people, not that anyone can hear over the country music playing overhead and the boisterous jawing of the pool players. 

When Dean sits down, he passes Cas one of the beers, which he immediately takes a long, hearty drink from. 

“Geez. That bad to talk to me?” Dean jokes, but Cas seems anything but amused. 

“Forgive me for not being equipped with the proper etiquette for dealing with an ex turning up, out of the blue, at my place of work twice in two days,” Cas says, sarcasm dripping from his voice and frustration evident in his narrowed blue eyes. “Though, of the two, I much prefer this visit since you’re not bleeding to death.” 

“Yeah… Well, I—uh—wanted to say thanks again for saving me. I know it’s not exactly fun having me here.”

“That is an understatement.” 

Dean sighs and takes a large gulp of his beer, wishing for something stronger to get him through this. 

“So, that guy you were talking to. He—uh—your… you know…” 

That earns him a scornful look and, yeah, that was probably the wrong question to ask in a tense situation like this.  But he wants to know, even if it does little to help him with the case. He and Cas may not be friends—or much of anything—right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has a weird feeling in his gut thinking about the way Cas and and Bartholomew were looking at each other. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Cas accuses, then sighs and takes a swig of his beer before letting the bottle hit the table, hard. “If you must know, no, he’s not. Bartholomew is just a friend.” Cas’ words hurt, but he expects it. “Tell me why you’re still here, Dean.”

This he can do. He’s not here for any emotional conversations with Cas, good or bad. He has a job to do, and that’s finding out what the hell Cas was doing at Ackerman’s office, especially after dismissing Dean’s concern about there being something weird here. 

“I want to know why you went to see Dale Ackerman today,” Dean starts. Cas doesn’t crack at that, hiding his expression behind his beer bottle as he takes another sip. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

“Really, Cas?” Dean says, voice deeper now as he tries to come across as more threatening. If Cas wants to play dumb, he can play the game, too. “Cut the crap, Cas. I only know one reporter named James Milton, and it’s no coincidence he turned up at the office of the husband of someone who died under strange circumstances.” That finally seems to break through the unconcerned facade that Cas had put up. Where Cas’ eyes were narrowed before, they are now wide with shock. 

“How did you know I was there?” Cas admits.

“Ackerman told me.” Now comes the hard part. He doesn’t want to believe that Cas has anything to do with this, but nothing so far is really adding up. “Shane Welch… you were the one he was seeing on the side weren’t you?” 

Before Cas can answer, a woman with reddish-blonde hair saunters up to their table. The way Cas lights up slightly tells Dean Cas knows her, and he feels another pang of jealousy hit him in the chest. 

“Castiel,” she greets lasciviously, leaning down on their table, completely unconcerned that she’s interrupted their conversation. 

“Hello, April.” 

“I missed you the other night. Pamela said you ran out for an emergency. I was all alone with no one to keep me company.” 

Dean nearly chokes on his beer listening to what he assume is a poor excuse for dirty-talk, but he has to give this woman credit for being brazen enough to do this in front of a stranger. 

“I’m sorry, April. I had—something come up very suddenly.” 

Dean feels a stab of pride and not the least bit bad that his near-death experience was more than likely the ‘something’ that ruined what he assumes would’ve been their hook up. His victory is short-lived when she begins rubbing up on Cas, hands roaming his body in a way that, once upon a time, was reserved for only Dean. The most painful part of the whole thing is how Cas does nothing to shrug her touch off. 

“Well, maybe you can make it up to me tonight?” April whispers, her voice now grating on Dean’s nerves. 

Dean clears his throat, finally sick of April’s ridiculous display. She turns to look at him, and he doesn’t miss the glare she throws his way. He returns it with a smirk. 

“Hi, Neil Young. FBI,” he says, sounding pleasant to underscore just how much he’s enjoying breaking up their little moment. 

Cas has the audacity to blush, and Dean’s not sure what to do with that because he’s positive Cas would normally get a kick out of him being put off like this.

“Umm, April, if you’ll give us a few moments, I’ll come find you,” Cas promises. April giggles and kisses him on the cheek before shooting Dean one last defiant look. Dean knows he shouldn’t, but he’s really hoping she’s the monster cause he’d really like to wipe that smug look off her face.

She leaves and Dean turns to follow her, watching as she disappears behind the bar. Dean rolls his eyes. Of course she works here. 

Even weirder is Bartholomew. When April walks past, the man’s expression is… sinister as he watches her from over his glass. It’s a cold look, and if Dean thinks he had a problem with April, it pales in comparison to the contempt Bartholomew seems to hold for her. 

“Dean!” Cas calls out. Dean turns back to see Cas staring at him, puzzled, with that flush still fresh in his cheeks. “Is there a problem?” 

Dean turns back again very quickly, but Bartholomew is gone. His glass is on the table, but as he scans the bar there’s no sign of him. April, on the other hand, is helping Pamela prep drinks behind the counter. When he turns back to Cas, he lets his face reset to calm and shakes his head. 

“Nah, everything’s fine.” 

Cas doesn’t seem convinced if the look on his face is anything to go by, but he nods anyway. There’s a moment of quiet that passes between them, and Dean can’t find anything to say to break it. He wants to leave and escape the awkwardness, but there’s a monster on the loose here and several questions that he needs answered. 

“You’re right,” Cas finally says. Dean looks up at him, and while he wants to say something, no words come out. Cas takes the opportunity to keep going. “I went to see Dale Ackerman.” 

Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion now. “Why, Cas?” 

Cas sighs and turns away from him for a moment. “You were right.” Dean briefly feels that small thrill of victory at Cas’ admission, but the other feeling bubbling in his stomach is fear. Fear that he and Cas are caught up in something that’s way over their heads. Then again, when hasn’t he been? “I’ve always had a suspicion that something wasn’t right for a while, but I ignored it. When you showed up, though, I knew I couldn’t anymore.” 

Cas shifts in his seat now and looks visibly anxious, his brow knitted and a scowl drawn across his mouth. 

“You alright, Cas?” 

Cas looks up at him immediately. Dean flinches at the sudden movement, and Cas’ breath hitches like he’s embarrassed. He prays this jitteriness he feels about Cas will go away soon. It’s hard to repair a relationship when he keeps telegraphing fear of Cas and what he is. And he’s still not sure if he truly is afraid or not. 

“We should discuss this somewhere else when there’s not music blasting over our heads.” 

Dean’s been so focused on Cas, he hadn’t realized just how loud the music is now, even where they are hidden away in the corner. The sounds of some new country song he’s never heard before are blasting overhead, and the bar is now picking up with more patrons coming in. 

“Yeah. Guess this ain’t exactly the place to talk about this anymore,” Dean says, louder now. “Benny and I… we—uh—got a couple of leads that we’re gonna check out tomorrow. Weird cases that he thinks might explain what’s going on around here. You should tag along.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Cas asks, and Dean can see the confusion dancing around in Cas’ expression. For the first time since he’s arrived in Newport, he can see the sadness that Cas has been carrying in his eyes, which are glimmering with pain. 

“If the thing that nearly took me out is still out there, then I’d rather have you with us. That is, if you’re up to it.” 

Dean watches as Cas looks down at the table before turning up to him, swallowing down a lump while steeling his gaze. It’s only then that Cas nods. 

“I’ll come along. I’ve ignored this too long, and it’s time I find out what’s going on.” 

Dean smiles, but he knows it’s tentative and timid at best. There’s a part of him that’s scared shitless of being around Cas. He’s also scared of having to face what he’s done  _ to _ Cas. And then there’s the part of him that craves the comfort that being around Cas gives him. He needs Cas to solve this case, so he’ll take whatever comes and deal with it. 

“Sounds good. I’ll—uh—call you tomorrow,” Dean says. 

Cas offers a half-smile and gets up from the table. Dean watches him go, eyes unable to look anywhere else. He laughs to himself. Cas’ ass is still just as nice as always. It’s one more painful reminder of what he gave up when he tossed Cas aside. 

He drains the rest of his beer and slams the bottle down on the table. 

Tomorrow is a new day, and having Cas along is simply a new challenge added on top. 


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a little past ten when Dean is dressed and heading down to the stairs and out the door of the B&B. While the complimentary breakfast smells delicious, he needs space to lay out his case materials and decide where to look next. That’s how he finds himself in the Impala heading to the diner Benny had shown him the other day. 

He’s only slightly groggy from a semi-restless night. He got five hours of sleep, one more than his usual four, so it’s still better than it could be. The reason for his fitful sleeping--namely, Cas--is still very much a problem, though.

Dean’s sent him two texts already and called him once, and while he feels a rising irritation growing, it’s tempered by memories of Cas’ utter hatred of mornings. Unless, of course, it’s April who is the cause for Cas’ lack of response. His blood pressure rises as he recalls how shamelessly she flaunted herself in front of Dean; how much she seemed to enjoy getting under his skin by touching Cas. 

He forces the memories of the woman out of his head and decides to call Cas one last time.It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail, just like before. As Dean hops into the Impala, the phone beeps for him to record his message. 

“Morning, sunshine.” He mentally slaps himself in the face, but presses on. “Listen, I’m craving something filling to eat before we dig into this case. I’m heading to the diner downtown next to those fancy women’s stores. So—uh—call me, I guess.” It’s awkward, but it’s everything he needs to say, so he hangs up and tosses the phone into the seat beside him, only for it to ring immediately. 

He freezes, assuming it’s Castiel, then breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Benny’s name pop up. 

“Morning, Benny.” 

“Morning’, brother. How’s the B&B treatin’ ya?” 

“Well, my pillows were freshly fluffed pillows and I managed to get a hot shower, so all in all, not bad.” There’s something refreshing about easy it is to talk to Benny. If he’s honest with himself, it’s because he craves a friend. Sure, he has other hunters who he works with—some good and some downright assholes. But besides Bobby and, once upon a time, Cas, Dean has no real friends. It’s why Newport is so appealing, more than just the small-town charm, it’s the feeling of belonging. 

“Glad to see Newport ain’t disappointing ya just yet.” They both laugh, and Dean definitely doesn’t want to give this up. “So, did you find any leads on our mystery reporter?” Benny asked, switching gears. 

He hesitates for a moment, but if Benny had no qualms taking him to Cas when he was dying, then Dean figures it’s alright to trust him. “Yeah. Turns out our mystery reporter is none other than the resident witch-doctor.” 

“Cas? You’re telling me Cas went out there and talked to Ackerman?” 

“Yeah, well, looks like Cas has a connection to the Ackerman case. I’m heading down to the diner. You heading that way?”

Benny sighs and already knows that spells bad news. “Sorry, brotha. Things down at the station are still hot. Being down a man in a small-town station like this is killin’ us, so I’m afraid I’m benched today.” 

Dean swallows the down the growl that threatens to escape. Being around Cas is going to be awkward enough. He’d hoped he’d have Benny there to help ease some of the tension. 

“Damn, I was looking forward to some bonding time,” Dean jokes to mask his frustration. 

“If you need me to come, Dean, I can talk my boss into givin’ me the day off,” Benny offers. 

He can hear the sincerity in Benny’s voice, and knows full well that Benny would take time off to help, even without pay. That’s why Dean sighs and shakes his head as though Benny were sitting right next to him. “Nah, Cas and I got this. I’ll call you if I find anything out, alright?” 

“Sounds good, Dean. You and Cas take care and watch your backs. Something just don’t feel right.” 

Dean knows exactly what Benny means. He’s hunted all over the U.S. for so many years, he knows when things aren’t right. It’s as if something is constantly lurking, watching his every move. The feeling has been bothering him all morning, and it hasn’t let up yet. 

“Will do. You take care of yourself, too.” 

Benny laughed. “Will do, brotha.” 

The line goes dead, and Dean pounds a fist against the steering wheel. He’s only a few minutes away from the diner but his stomach is already growling in protest at the lack of food. No Benny just means he’ll have to be a bit more careful with what he says around Cas, less Cas quit helping, or use his magic to blast him to bits as he’s well aware witches can do. That’s if Cas even calls him back. Part of him hopes Cas doesn’t call or show, but he knows the odds of that are slim. 

Arriving at the diner, he grabs the files, makes his way inside, and is seated by the same waitress that took care of Benny and him the first time. She remembers him and grants his request for someplace quiet by sticking him in a booth tucked away in the back. He orders a cup of coffee and tells her about Cas possibly coming, though he’s still heard nothing from him. 

He decides to put Ackerman case on the back burner until Cas can tell him what he knows, so he instead turns to Daphne Allen’s case. It’s marked ‘closed’ but as he scans the pages, the case doesn’t seem to add up. Her profile, her whereabouts in the weeks before she went missing, and everything about her seems normal. Right up until no one could find her for those two weeks when she’d just vanished. Even weirder is that she’d randomly showed up, hypothermic, at the edge of the forest. 

The whole case seems strange, but all he’s got to go on is a report of her murmuring the name “Emmanuel” before she died in the hospital. 

He’s looking around for the waitress to order some food when he sees Cas walk into the diner and only barely avoids spilling coffee on himself as he stares. Cas looks around confusedly for a moment until he sees Dean, and Dean gathers up the papers spread out on the table to make room for him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, stopping at the booth but not sitting, as if waiting for permission. 

“Well, look who finally made it. I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” Dean says with a smirk. 

Cas rolls his eyes and sits down, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I overslept.” Dean’s not sure if it’s a lie, after all he saw how cozy Cas and April seemed last night, but if it is, then he’s thankful that Cas has spared him thinking about April and him together. 

“Yeah, well, that’s not exactly a surprise,” Dean laughs. “You weren’t exactly Mr. Morning.” 

“I could say the same for you,” Cas jibes. 

The waitress returns and she smiles when she sees Cas. 

“Well, look who it is? Can’t tell you the last time I saw you in here this early,” she teases. 

She looks between Dean and Cas until Cas starts to blush and shift uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s not what you think. He and I are just… associates.” 

Dean would’ve hoped for ‘friends’ but still, ‘associates’ is a lot better than what he’d expected.

“No judgment here.” Her smile is sincere and Dean isn’t sure if he’s embarrassed or amused that she thinks they’re on a date. “What’ll it be for you two?” she asks.

Dean scans the menu, settling on the pancake platter that has all the favorites he looks for in his diner food: large, buttermilk pancakes, greasy meat, eggs, and a heaping of hash browns, too.

“I’ll take the pancake special. Eggs scrambled with cheese,” Dean orders. 

“Alright. And lemme guess, the usual for you, hon?” she directs at Castiel. 

Dean grins. “Lemme guess, it’s the Sunrise Special. Extra bacon, eggs scrambled with cheese, and sourdough toast? Oh and don’t forget his coffee, black, with three packets of sugar.” It’s not even a question, because he knows Cas too well. He’s lost count of how many small-town diners they’ve eaten at together, and if Cas is anything, he’s consistent. Cas’ wide-eyed stare is simply confirmation. 

“He’s good,” the waitress says before walking off, throwing one last smile their way before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“That was unnecessary,” Cas mutters. 

Dean laughs and shoots him a shit-eating grin. “Hey, I was right, wasn’t I?” 

Cas rolls his eyes before the waitress brings him his cup of coffee. It’s only when she turns and leaves that Cas drinks much of it down in one gulp, seemingly unbothered by the fact that it’s steaming hot. 

“So, what, is that like some weird witch thing?” 

“Yes.” 

Cas goes back to his coffee, drinking it down like a vampire would drink blood, and Dean laughs. His laugh is tempered when reality returns and reminds him that Cas being a witch is still a sore point between the two of them. It doesn’t stop him from being curious, though. 

“So… how does it work?” 

Cas raises an eyebrow from over his coffee cup and puts it down. “How does what work?” 

“You know… your powers and stuff.” 

Cas sighs. “Why does it matter?” He throws an accusing look Dean’s way. “The last time I saw you, Dean, you said you hated witches and you wanted nothing to do with them. Myself included.” 

His words cut like a knife and Dean swallows down a lump. He deserves it, but smiles anyway. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not exactly a fan of witches, what with all the bodily fluids getting spewed everywhere. Ain’t exactly sanitary.” Cas’ accusatory looks worsens, and Dean shrugs. “But, you’re different. You’re... Cas.” He’s not sure what else to say that doesn’t give away all the conflicting emotions swirling around inside him. He wants to apologize to Cas for everything, but he doesn’t know what to say or if Cas would even listen to him now. “Look, I’m just curious, Cas. The more I know the better, since we’re partners and all.” 

“We’re not partners, Dean. I’m here to help you get rid of this monster so you can leave.” 

Dean doesn’t react because he knows he deserves that, too. So instead he just nods and shrugs. “Yeah, ok.”

There’s a moment of silence as Cas hides his face in his coffee cup while Dean looks everywhere but at Cas. Eventually, Cas sighs. 

“My magic comes from nature.” That snaps Dean’s eyes back on Cas, who sets his empty coffee cup down on the table. “My mother was a natural-born witch and we come from a long line of witches. We draw our power from the natural forces around us.” 

“So no demons or anything like that?” Dean asks. 

Cas shakes his head. “We don’t need them. Those who seek power make deals with demons for their witchcraft. I have no need for it.” Cas’ attention turns elsewhere and Dean follows his gaze to see the stack of case files lying in a pile beside him. “What are those?” Cas asks, seeming to want to change the subject. 

“They’re case files. Benny pulled a few cases he thinks might’ve had a supernatural twist to them. He thinks they might be tied to whatever the hell that thing is that nearly killed me.” 

“Can I see them?” 

Dean shrugs and slides the files across the table right as the waitress brings out their breakfast. 

“One pancake and eggs special, and one Sunrise Special cooked just the way you like. You boys let me know if you need anything.” 

Dean beams and nods before she walks off while Cas is so engrossed in one of the files that he barely registers the food in front of him. That doesn’t stop Dean from drizzling his pancakes with maple syrup before digging in. After a few bites, though, he looks up to see that Cas still hasn’t moved. His face is glued to the case file in hand—the one on Daphne Allen.

“Not to be a nag, but—uh—you gonna eat?” 

Cas finally looks up, and Dean sees it now. There’s confusion swimming in his blue eyes, but not that ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ confusion that Dean knows so well. 

“Why did Benny think this case was special?” Cas asked, turning the case file around so Dean can see a picture of Daphne. 

Dean shrugs and swallows down a forkful of eggs. “It’s not exactly normal for a woman to go missing in the dead of winter and come back saying nothing but one name. Benny ain’t buying that she just lost it and disappeared.” There’s a steely look in Cas’ expression now, and it raises an alarm inside of Dean. “What’s got you so worked up about it?” 

“Dean… I knew this woman.” 

“Well, yeah. This town ain’t exactly big, Cas. I’d be shocked if you didn’t.” 

Cas sighs and shakes his head. “Not just like that, Dean. I…” Cas pauses and something unsettling takes root in Dean’s stomach, and it’s not just the plateful of eggs and pancakes he just downed. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“Cas—if something’s bothering you… you gotta tell me. I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on around here.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” There’s a tone of finality in Cas’ voice but Dean needs to know. He’s not entitled to the information, but the feeling that whatever Cas is keeping to himself could help lingers deep in his mind. “What’s your plan for stopping this thing?” Cas asks, quickly changing the subject. 

Dean huffs and sits back in the booth. “Benny gave me the address of Daphne Allen’s place. Apparently, they can’t sell it since Daphne’s death. Figure it might be a good place to start.” Cas shifts again, and Dean wants to call him on it, but he knows it won’t do him any good. Cas never talks if he doesn’t want to. “You comin’?” 

Cas looks at him and hesitates, but Cas sighs and nods. “Yes. I’ll come. I’ll need a ride though.” 

Dean fixes him with a raised eyebrow. “You walked in this cold? Some kinda witch thing?” 

“No.” Cas sighs and looks ashamed almost. “I was running behind so I… used my magic to get here faster.” 

Dean leans closer to Cas and for some reason he feels a strange sense of irritation at Cas’ admission. 

“I’m sorry, you used your magic… to teleport here? Last time I checked, wasn’t it kind of risky to use your magic openly like that?” 

Cas throws an exasperated look his way. “I was careful. But… it took a lot out of me, and I don’t think I could do it again.” 

Dean shakes his head, but smiles. “Alright. You got shotgun. It’ll be just like old times.” Dean looks at Cas’ full plate and back up to him again. “You gonna eat that?” 

The beginnings of a smirk appear at the corner of Cas’ lips, but it fades when Cas uses his fork to eat a mouthful of eggs. 

“Does that answer you question?” 

Dean chuckles. It may not alleviate all the tension between them, or change the fact that Dean’s got a million question to ask Cas, but it’s a start, and that’s about the best he can hope for right now. 

______________________

 

The car ride is short and only slightly tense as they drive to house where Daphne lived. It’s a tiny but quaint house, not unlike Cas’, that sits on the opposite end of Newport. It’s close enough to the edge of the woods that Dean suspects it was easy for her to slip out into the forest unnoticed for a long time. 

Cas, despite the silence, is completely at ease in the Impala. He’s relaxed into the seat just like old times. The nostalgia that even something as simple as having Cas in the Impala brings reminds Dean just how dangerous this is. He’s spent two years building up a wall to shield himself from the emotions of remembering what he did, and something as simple as this is threatening to bring it down. 

It’s not until they pull up to Daphne Allen’s house that Cas visibly tenses again, his body rigid and his fists clenched in his lap. 

“So, this is the place,” Dean says as he brings the Impala to a stop in the driveway. The street is empty, giving an eerie almost lonely vibe. He turns to Cas, whose attention is focused on the house. It’s a nice house from the outside at least, seemingly untouched from the years left vacant. Cas still stands mesmerized almost, and Dean leans in closer to him. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” 

Cas looks to him and takes a deep breath while letting his fists relax, but Dean can still see the tension in in his body. 

“I’m fine. This place just brings back memories,” Cas answers, tone full of regret. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

Cas exhales a deep breath and takes a minute to look down at his hands before he turns back to Dean. 

“I used to date Daphne.” 

Dean feels his heart sink in his chest. He knows he’s an idiot for it, but he’s definitely jealous of Cas’ past relationship with a deceased woman.

“Wow—well… uh… sorry for your loss.” 

Cas shakes his head. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

Cas gets out of the Impala and slams the door shut, and Dean rushes out to catch up with him. They walk silently to the front door while Dean scans the perimeter of the house, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. When they reach the front door, Dean stops and takes a deep breath. 

“So, Benny says this play is still empty,” Dean says. 

Cas just nods, but shies away from him a bit. “The house has been difficult to sell since Daphne’s death. It mostly just collects dust now.” There’s sadness in Cas’ tone, and Dean wonders if Cas isn’t over her death yet. It makes him wonder just how serious he and Daphne had been. 

“You ready?” Dean asks. 

Cas nods, but even through his steeled look, Dean can sense apprehension. It makes him wonder what he’ll find inside here, if anything.  

Much to his surprise, the door is unlocked, probably from the last time someone attempted to show this house to potential buyers. When they push inside, Dean is immediately hit with the scent of stale air. Dust dances in the faint beams of sunlight that peaks out from behind the clouds. Minus the smell and dust, the house looks like it’s still lived in, the furniture still in place and untouched. 

“Nice place,” Dean comments as he closes the door behind them, locking the door this time so no one can bother them. Not that he expects anyone will. 

“Daphne did take a lot of pride in her home.” 

Concern fills Dean, and he turns back to Cas who is hesitantly running his hands over several vases, lamps, and photographs that line the tables and shelves in her house. Dean wants to say something, but instead he walks into the living room, leaving Cas in the foyer alone. The dust in here is even worse, a thick coating of it lining the coffee table and even the sofa and armchair. There’s a picture that sits above the fireplace, and Dean swallows and feels his heart sink when he picks it up. 

It’s a photo is of Daphne and Cas. She’s kissing Cas on the cheek while Cas is grinning, that awkward but beautiful and genuine smile that used to be reserved just for Dean. Seeing that smile with Daphne though, he realizes Cas is or was just as happy with her. He sets it back down, feeling like a disrespectful asshole for laying it face down to spare himself the reminder of how much he fucked up. 

Cas comes in right after, and fixes him with a puzzled expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas inquires. 

Dean shrugs and moves away from the fireplace. “Oh—uh—nothing. Just feel bad about what happened to her.” 

Dean follows Cas gaze to the fireplace and he knows Cas sees the picture turned over, but he tries to pretend that Cas doesn’t. 

“What are we looking for, Dean?” Cas pins him now with that questioning look and Dean’s not sure how to answer it because he’s not sure what he’s looking for.

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean replies with a shrug. “Maybe something that could explain why Daphne went crazy all of a sudden.” 

“She wasn’t crazy,” Cas interjects quickly, causing Dean to flinch back slightly. Dean looks to Cas, whose face is tight with anger now, his brow creased and his chapped lips taut. Dean has no reason to fear Cas, but it’s always second nature with witches. He’s seen witches level houses when they’re angry or send everything flying in one angry outburst. He reminds himself, though, that this is  _ Cas _ . 

“We need proof, Cas. Either she lost her damn mind and decided to get lost in the forest in middle of a snowstorm or something crazy happened that dragged her out there.” Cas shies away from Dean, looking down despondently before turning up to Dean again. “Cas… if you know something, you gotta tell me.” 

Dean jumps when Cas raises his hand and the turned-down photograph levitates through the air towards him. Dean watches as Cas stares at the picture before sighing and sitting down on the sofa, unconcerned about the dust that’s kicked up as he sits. 

“Daphne seemed troubled before she disappeared,” Cas starts. 

Dean sits opposite Cas in the armchair and leans forward. “How so?” 

“She seemed distant and distraught. When we were together—she often spoke of her ex-fiancé, Emmanuel. He died only a couple of years before I moved here.” Cas looks down at the photo again before placing it on the coffee table. “It was odd. She spoke almost as if she could see him.” 

“Sounds like a shifter. You don’t think she was dealing with a shifter?” 

Cas narrows his eyes in confusion. “A shifter? No, why?” 

“Benny and I are thinking it was a shifter that killed Whitney Ackerman and Shane Welch. If Daphne was seeing her ex-fiancé, then it’s possible she saw the shifter, too.” 

Cas scratches his chin for a moment but shakes his head. “I never considered a shifter. Daphne never spoke as if he was real, just spoke of him often. But… I always felt like she had been hiding something from me before she disappeared.”

“You two were close, huh?” Dean asks, regretting it immediately. 

Cas nods. “She was… a welcome relief after my last relationship. She understood the pain of losing someone you loved forever.” 

Dean feels a tightness in his throat, like something is almost choking him. Cas didn’t need to elaborate for Dean to know that he was referring to Dean and their past relationship. Maybe it’s the rising guilt that’s choking him.

“Cas—I… I—”

“This isn’t the time, Dean.” 

Dean nods and is silently thankful. He’s not sure how much longer they can keep putting off this conversation, but he’ll take every delay he can get. 

“What happened when she went missing?” 

Cas shrugs and seems genuinely puzzled. “It was very sudden. She was feeling very despondent and tired the night before. I remember she wasn’t sleeping well, but she wouldn’t let me stay over. The next morning she was just… gone. Everyone tried to find her, but it was impossible. Even my magic wouldn’t work either. Every time I attempted a tracking spell my vision was clouded, like something was intentionally blocking me.”

“Wait, something was blocking your magic, and you didn’t think something was off about that?” Dean questions.  

Cas rolls his eyes and huffs irritably. “Magic can be influenced by emotional state. I assumed it was because I was distraught by her disappearance.” 

“And now?” Dean questions immediately.

“Now? I feel like something—or someone—didn’t want me to find her.” Cas gets that guilty look on his face and Dean instinctively wants to put a hand on his shoulder or kiss the guilt away, but he swallows down the urge. “If only I had stayed behind, maybe I could’ve stopped this.” 

Dean nods, stands up from the chair, and shakes his head. “No sense in moping about the past. If you wanna do anything now, let’s find whatever the hell this thing is.”

Cas swallows but nods and a slight smile returns to his face. Dean smiles back, but that’s right when his phone begins to ring. When he pulls it out he sees Benny’s name pop on his screen again. 

“It’s Benny. Probably just checking in,” Dean says to Cas before answering. “Benny, whatcha got?” 

“Dean, wherever you are, I need you to get down to 320 West 46th Street. We got another body, and I think you’ll want to check this one out.” 

Dean’s become numb to death in a way. He’s seen too many innocent people die before he finally puts a monster down, and he’s learned to keep it moving. This death feels different, though. Maybe because he feels like some way, somehow this involves him. 

“Understood. Cas and I will be there in a bit.” 

He hangs up and turns to Cas, who is already alert, fixing Dean with a puzzled and anxious stare. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas inquires. 

“Benny says they got another dead body. Looks like we’re heading to 320 West 46th Street.” 

Dean watches as Cas eyes shoot open wide as though something just hit him. The color in Cas’ face drains and he begins to shake his head. 

“Cas… Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean says, approaching Cas and putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder. 

“That address… I know who lives there,” Cas says, his voice timid and filled with confusion.

“Who?” 

Cas swallows and turns away from Dean only to look back up at him again. 

“It’s… April.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean drives like a bat out of hell. Not for himself but for Cas, who’s deathly silent beside him. Cas doesn’t have to talk for Dean to see the stress and fear he’s experiencing. It’s obvious in the way Cas’ chest heaves, and the way his expression is a mix of rage and fear. Dean’s not sure what possessed him to do it, but as he’s driving to the crime scene his hand finds its way onto Cas’ thigh and stayed there the entire time. Cas never brushes it away. 

When they finally reach the address Benny gave him, he sees several police cruisers already lining the street, one of them belonging to Benny. The house has been cordoned off and townspeople surround it, trying to peek over and around one another to get a better view of what’s going on. 

Dean pulls the Impala over in an empty spot away from the commotion and turns to Cas. His hand is still on Cas’ thigh, but he pulls it away, fighting against the voice in his head that demands he leave it there. 

“I don’t think they’ll let you come inside. You gonna be alright here?” he asks. 

Cas turns to him but he doesn’t nod or shake his head. He just stares at Dean for several moments. 

Finally, after about a minute of silence, Cas nods his head a little. “Yes. I’m… just not sure what to think,” Cas says, voice only slightly shaky. 

“Cas, if you’re not ready, I can take you home. If it’s April… I’ll let you know. I know you two were…” Dean doesn’t let himself finish the sentence. He’s not sure if it’s out of selfishness—not wanting to hear about another person who Cas loves—or out of guilt that April may be dead after he had jealously wished for it.  

“No,” Cas says defiantly, shaking his head. “April and I, we weren’t like that. Our relationship was… casual. She wanted more and I didn’t.” Cas stops and sighs. “I’ll stay.” 

Dean backs away from Cas, unlocking the Impala. “Alright. I’ll let you know what we find.” 

They both get out of the Impala, and Dean steps over the yellow tape. He turns back to Cas who just stands there idly, and Dean feels his heart break for the man. 

The first person to stop him is a small officer in a too-big uniform who’s guarding the front door to the house. 

“Sorry, sir. But, uh, only officers are allowed past this point.” 

Dean reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his fake badge before flashing it at the man. “Agent Neil Young with the FBI. Officer Lafitte called me about a body.” 

“Oh, you’re the guy with the FBI,” the officer says with a blooming realization. The man smiles and extends his hand for a shake. Something about him seems too nice to be a policeman, maybe his baby face and natural-looking innocence, but that’s none of Dean’s business. “Officer Fitzgerald, but you can call me Garth. Benny’s just inside. It’s—uh—real gruesome in there. Not that you need any warning or anything. Just ain’t something I’m used to seeing ‘round here.” 

“Thanks. I’ll--uh—just see for myself.” 

The moment he walks inside the house, he’s hit with the stench of blood. There are more officers and what he assumes is the town CSI scrambling to and from the kitchen, so Dean heads in that direction. April Kelly’s body is spread out on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a pool of blood and with a bloody knife lying beside her. 

“Sonuvabitch,” Dean mutters. There’s no way to describe the guilt that he feels. He wished for this, but he never hoped it would happen. More than that, he’s worried about Cas. A hand on his shoulder breaks his train of thought and he looks up at Benny who huffs and shakes his head. 

“Victim’s name is April Kelly. Works as waitress during the day and then bartends down at Jesse’s at night. Neighbor called it in this morning. Said she thought she heard loud noises and some screams coming from here last night. Figured she’d check in the next morning, and the door was unlocked. When she went in, she found her like this.”

“Guess she was stabbed to death?” Dean says, squatting closer to the body to get a closer look. 

“Stabbed about twenty or so times—all around the heart. Sound familiar?” 

Dean sighs and shakes his head. “Do you have any suspects?” 

The question earns him a frown and Benny stepping closer to him. “We might wanna continue this somewhere more private.” Dean stands up and motions for Benny to join him as they make their way to somewhere less crowded—April’s bathroom—which seems to have already been combed over. When they’re alone, Benny closes the door and lets out a sigh. “We did get a general description of the person we think might be someone of interest. Neighbor saw someone go inside, but you ain’t gonna like it.”

“Hit me. The sooner we got a potential suspect, the sooner we can put this shit to rest.” 

Benny sighs and turns away, scratching at his beard anxiously before looking over to Dean with those honest blue eyes. 

“Dean… the description matches Castiel.” 

Dean’s fists clench and he feels a headache coming on. In the back of his mind, he knew this could happen—that the blame would start to fall at Cas’ feet. And now, he’s got the added pressure of trying to find the culprit and take the blame off Cas. 

“That can’t be right. Cas wouldn’t do this,” Dean argues. “It’s gotta be someone else.” 

“I don’t know. The witness swore they saw Castiel walk in here last night, and didn’t see him leave. He may not be our guy, but at the very least, Cas is a person on interest, Dean.” 

Dean shook his head more violently this time. “No. No, that’s not right. It’s gotta be the shifter Benny. Why would Cas do this?” 

“I don’t know, Dean. Maybe the same reason he went to see Dale Ackerman before we did.” Dean swallows nervously. There’s no way he deny that this looks bad for Cas. The sad part is he can’t do anything to clear his name in this moment. Benny scratches the back of his neck and Dean can see the reluctance in his expression. “Look, brother. I don’t want to believe that Cas is the one behind this, but something don’t feel right. And Cas… well he’s a strange one, too.” The  _ because he’s a witch _ goes without saying. Benny may have no problem using Cas, but Dean now knows that it doesn’t mean he necessarily trusts him either. “None of this stuff—it didn’t start until he showed up Dean.”

Dean sighs and releases some of the tension in his balled up fists, but it does little to alleviate the pain of his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. His mind is racing and it’s making his headache worse. Deep in his heart he believes that it can’t be Cas. He just wishes his brain wouldn’t keep trying to think up all the ways that it could. 

“How long can you hold them off before they get to Cas?” 

The question catches Benny by surprise. “A day. Maybe two tops. After that he’ll be treated like a person of interest, and we won’t have any choice but to bring him in. What’re you thinking?” 

“I just need some time to talk to Cas—see what he’s got to say about all of this. For all we know, the shifter could be trying to frame him.” 

Benny fixes him with a bemused eyebrow raise and folds his arm. “And what if it’s not a shifter, Dean. Cas is—he’s a witch. Cas has been nothin’ but nice, but I’ve seen what he can do with my own two eyes, and it ain’t no trick. You could be walking right into trap.” 

The question has Dean reaching for the door knob, already exhausted of thinking about the possibility that Cas is involved. He can’t think about this now.

“You have to trust me… this ain’t Cas,” Dean pauses preparing himself for what he’s about to say and loathing it already. “But on the off chance this is Cas… I’ll handle it. I’ve killed worse witches before.” He hates the words that are coming out of his mouth, but knows full-well that Cas didn’t do this. He made the mistake of believing Cas was a monster before, but he won’t do it again. What he’s saying now to Benny, is only to ensure he gains Benny’s trust. Before turning the knob, Dean turns back to Benny, mustering up as much begging as he could in his eyes. “Just gimme some time, Benny.” 

Benny’s stares blankly at Dean before a small smile touches his face and he chuckles. “I don’t know you from Adam… and yet something always tells me to trust ya.” Dean’s not sure what that means, but he takes the smile as a good sign and grins back before opening the door. “The chief is gonna want this wrapped up quick, so the most I can get you is a day probably.” 

“Thanks, Benny.” 

Before Benny can say anything else, Dean’s out of the house and pushing through the throng of people back to the Impala. He stops, though, when he finds Cas leaning against the Impala with his breaths coming short and heavy. Chest tightening with concern, Dean rushes to Cas’ side and grasps him by the shoulder and chest.  

“Cas! What the hell happened?” Dean demands, shaking Cas. 

Cas doesn’t talk, but instead tries to shrug Dean’s hands off. “Let… me… go,” Cas says between staggered breaths. 

Dean’s eyes widen just a little and he watches as Cas struggles to regain his balance, his breathing finally slowing. What he doesn’t expect is the glare that Cas fixates on him. 

“Cas, wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

“Dean, I know everything.” Cas’ words feel like an accusation. 

“Cas, the hell are you talking about?” 

“I know it’s April in there. I know that she died the same way Shane did.” Cas pauses and looks away. The accusing glare fades into a pained and almost offended look. “I know that Benny thinks it’s me who did it.” 

Dean draws in a sharp breath.  _ How could Cas possibly know? _ But after a brief moment he figures it out. Cas all weak and short of breath. Cas knowing exactly what was said between him and Benny. 

“You projected yourself in there, didn’t you?” Cas doesn’t answer him which Dean takes as a yes. “Jesus, Cas! You could’ve gotten caught. Or worse.”

“Does it matter?” Cas bit back sharply. There’s another pause while Cas levels a sterner glare at him. “I saw and heard everything, Dean. I know that Benny believes I’m guilty of this. And I know that deep down, you do, too.” 

Dean’s breathing is heavy now. Cas accusation makes him feel like there’s suddenly less air in the atmosphere now; like every breath he takes could be his last, especially as Cas’ bright eyes seem to pierce right through him. 

“Cas… you gotta believe me when I say that I don’t think it’s you.” 

“How can I trust you, Dean, when you abandoned me after I trusted you before?”

Silence fills the space between them, Dean’s ears blocking out the sounds of the crowd behind him, instead focused only on the echo of Cas’ accusation ringing in his ears. His fists are balled up tight again and though he wants to turn away, his eyes are glued to Cas. Cas, on his end, looks just as stunned that he spoke the words aloud, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring like an enraged and confused bull. 

“Cas… this isn’t like that.” 

“Tell me how it isn’t?” Cas interjects. “I saw the look on your face, Dean. It’s the same one you gave me when you told me to leave and never come back. When you called me a monster.”

“I was an idiot when I said that, alright!” Dean barks, cutting Cas off before he can hear anymore. “I said messed-up crap because I’m messed up, Cas. I believed for all those years that you were like the things we hunted.” Dean’s throat feels dry, maybe from the bitter wind blowing, but he tries to swallow anyway. “But don’t forget, you kept that from me all those years.” 

Cas shakes his head. “You would’ve never accepted it had I told you, Dean. Just like you won’t accept it now when I tell you I had nothing to do with this.”  

Cas backs away from him and Dean takes a step forward, but he’s immediately frozen in place by Cas’ raised hand. 

“Cas! Wait! We can figure this out!” Dean yells out. He struggles to move, but Cas’ magic is too potent. It’s another indicator of just how strong of a witch Cas really is. 

“No, we can’t Dean,” Cas says before taking another step back. Cas lets his hands drop and Dean falls to the ground, legs weak and unstable after being bound by magic. “ _ Dea pro mihi, audite meus dico… _ ” Dean scrambles to his feet when he hears the latin, but Cas is unconcerned. “ _ Patepacio prodigium, pro nos totus. _ ”

There’s no bright flash or gust of wind. Just a sudden surge of pressure that Dean assumes is magic. And then just like that, Cas is gone. Dean gets to his feet, but there’s nothing he can do. Cas is gone, and he’s not sure where. He looks around futilely before kicking one of the Impala’s tires. 

“Sonuvabitch!” he growls. 

He braces himself against the hood and lets his head fall. He thinks of all the ways he messed up again. He should’ve defended Cas more stridently. He never should’ve blamed him for his own issues with the supernatural. He never should’ve called him a monster.  _ He never should’ve come to Newport.  _

But he’s here, and if there’s one thing he’s going to do before he walks out of Cas’ life again, it’s going to be proving Cas is innocent. 

______________________

 

Dean’s driven around Newport at least twice now, looking fervently for Cas. It was almost certainly pointless—he’s not just walking around town—but Dean had to do  _ something _ . He’s been so focused that he hadn’t even touched the radio to play any of his cassettes. Now back at Cas’ house, he’s banging on the door but Cas either isn’t home or is doing a great job of ignoring him. As he trudges back to the Impala, he grumpily notices that at least Cas’ cat seems not to have any issues with him, following him all the way to the Impala. 

He tries to open the door, but the cat won’t move out of the way. It tilts its head in away that’s so reminiscent of Cas and Dean huffs and tries to shoo it away. 

“Alright, time to move,” he says trying to nudge it with his boot. The cat just meows at him and nuzzles his shoe. “No. No. And no. I’ve got things to do.” The cat doesn’t care and continues to nuzzle his legs for another few moments. For some reason Dean can’t bring himself to force it away, so he crouches down instead, knowing full well he’ll probably have a sneezing fit later. “You make your owner talk to me again and I’ll let you nuzzle me all you want.” 

The cat stares at him, and Dean sighs, lamenting the fact that he’s been reduced to talking to Cas’ cat when he should be trying to prove Cas innocent of murdering April. The cat eventually wanders back to Cas’ house, and Dean can finally get in the Impala and let his body fall back into the seat. 

He fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. No reply to any of his texts and no missed calls from Cas, even after he’s left three voicemails. It doesn’t stop him from leaving another one. “Cas, look, man. I’m sorry… for everything. But you gotta work with me here. I’m trying to clear your name, so—just call me back.” He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the seat. 

Jesse’s bar is the next—and last—place on Dean’s list of “where Cas would possibly go.” He’s not sure whether the biggest reason for going is to find Cas or to drown his guilt in booze. He’s not surprised to see the place fairly packed with a couple of guys crowding the pool and others at tables watching whatever’s on the old TVs hung around the place. He is surprised to see that one of the only few seated at the bar is none other than Bartholomew. The man still sticks out like a sore thumb with his black three piece suit and glass of what looks like whiskey. While others in the bar seem interested in something, be it the television or the pool table, Bartholomew seems uninterested in it all. It’s like an air of arrogance seemingly surrounds him. 

Bartholomew looks up as soon as Dean comes through the door, that smarmy grin beginning to form when his eyes connect with Dean’s. 

Dean swallows, despite the knot that immediately forms in his stomach, and ignores him. Opting instead to sit down at the other end of bar where he’s greeted by Pamela’s smile. 

“Two times in one a day? I’m a lucky girl,” she greets. She winks while reaching into the fridge behind her. As she turns around, Dean catches a glimpse of the tattoo that peeks out as her tank rides up.  _ Jesse Forever _ . 

“I think Jesse’s the lucky one,” Dean says with a quick chuckle. 

Pamela laughs as she continues fishing around in the fridge, rearranging beer bottles while avidly searching for something. “Well, he wasn’t forever, so I guess he wasn’t all that lucky.”

“His loss,” Dean laughs. 

When Pamela turns around, she drops a bottle of beer in front of him, and Dean finds himself stunned into silence at the fact that she knew exactly what he was about to order, beer brand and all. Pamela, though, just smirks. 

“I’d say it’s your gain, but I get the sense that you’re not exactly on the market at the moment.” The look on her face screams that she already knows it’s true, and immediately, Dean realizes that Pamela might be something. Psychic, witch, or whatever. And it’s creeping him the hell out. 

The creepy vibe amps up to eleven when he senses another presence beside him. Goosebumps litter his arms and the alarms in his brain sound off, screaming danger. When he turns and sees Bartholomew standing beside him, his attention focused on Pamela, Dean can tell it’s a ruse. Bartholomew is here for him. 

Pamela looks up, glimmers of anger and irritation sparkling in her eyes before it’s masked by a false smile. 

“Another round?” Pamela inquires. 

“Another whiskey. On the rocks this time. One for him too. You look a little long in the face. Like you could use something to drink as well,” Bartholomew answers, an unnatural calmness to his tone that belies something more sinister. Dean knows he could be overreacting, especially given that Cas and Bartholomew seemed to have been flirting last night. But he’s been in the hunting business long enough to know that you don’t doubt your intuition when it’s screaming at you. 

“No thanks. I’m good with beer,” Dean says, directing his gaze somewhere between Pamela and Bartholomew. 

Bartholomew pulls up a seat beside Dean, however, and Dean can see that grin spread across his face. “I insist. I’m feeling generous today. Consider it my treat.” The words are like a honeyed poison, so normal sounding on the surface, but Dean can hear it—feel it. There’s some strange contempt Bartholomew has towards him. Still, Bartholomew fishes out a twenty dollar bill from the breast pocket of his jacket and slides it across the table to Pamela. She seems reluctant to touch it, but does anyway. 

“Mighty nice of you,” Dean says, turning to glance at Bartholomew, whose gaze is fixed on him now—blue eyes boring into him as though he could see into Dean’s mind and soul. 

“My apologies. And please, it’s the least I can do for you…” Bartholomew trails off, waiting for Dean to fill in the blanks. 

“Neil Young. Agent Young, if you wanna get technical,” Dean replies.

Bartholomew grins in a manner that’s vaguely sinister, and the glint in his blue eyes reminds Dean of the resident sociopath in every terrible horror movie. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Agent Young. Bartholomew Harrington.” 

Dean nods his head in greeting. “Pleasure’s all mine.” 

Pamela returns with two glasses of whiskey and sets them down, sending a concerned look Dean’s way before glaring at Bartholomew and walking off. Bartholomew takes a sip of his drink,  making no effort to move back to his end of the bar. Dean finishes his beer in silence, attempting to ignore the presence beside him. The TV that’s mounted above the bar is turned to the local news channel. Dean looks up to see April’s house on the screen, with the police still scurrying in and out. 

“You know, it’s a shame what happened to that poor girl.” Bartholomew’s words send a sudden chill down Dean’s spine, and his grip on the bottle in his hand tightens. “It’s just another reminder that life is so… fleeting.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m just hoping they can catch the sick bastard that did it,” Dean says, hiding his suspicion behind a calm tone. 

“I hope so, as well.” Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Bartholomew calmly takes another sip of his whiskey, his lips still curled into an almost-smile. “So, what brings you to Newport?”

Dean wishes for another beer, feeling anxious to even touch the glass of whiskey sitting in front of him. He figures he can flag down Pamela for another when she comes back. He’s also shamelessly looking forward to the opportunity to snub Bartholomew. 

“Investigating some old cases,” Dean answers curtly. 

“I see. Well, I hope your investigation proceeds smoothly. I can only imagine you’re anxious leave Newport and return home to your… wife. Or maybe husband? I wouldn’t want to assume.” Dean can tell Bartholomew’s tone is mocking, as if he can see through this facade Dean’s put up. 

“Well, can’t argue with you about getting outta here. But—uh—don’t exactly have either of those to go home to.” 

Bartholomew hums. “My apologies for assuming.” His tone implies he’s anything but sorry. “Still, seeing a poor, young woman taken from this world in the prime of her life—it makes you appreciate the small things we sometimes take for granted.”   

Dean just snorts and gives a tiny nod in agreement. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Bartholomew chuckles while finishing off the rest of his whiskey. “Even the smallest things start to make you smile. Like the way someone wakes up in the morning—hair all sleep-mussed, and grouchy until they’ve had that first cup of coffee. Or even… those black wings tattooed on their back.”

Red tinges the edges of Dean’s vision as he stares at Bartholomew. It only took a few words for Dean to figure out that he’s talking about Cas, and talking about him in a way that makes Dean sick to his stomach. How can he forget the days and nights he let his fingers glide over the black ‘angel wings’, as he called them, tattooed on Cas’ back, or how Cas would demand a cup of coffee before he would even consider another round of lazy morning sex. 

Bartholomew knows it all, and he’s here not to befriend Dean, but to taunt him.  

“They sound like a real keeper,” Dean grumbles. 

Bartholomew snickers before taking another drink of his whiskey. “Quite.” When he sets his glass down on the counter, his smirks is wider and more vile than before. Dean wants to punch it off his face. “That poor woman’s death is just a reminder of the fleetingness of life, Agent Young. You can be here one day and gone the next. But, from this tragedy, is the reminder that we all have a duty to ourselves to  _ cherish _ and  _ protect _ the things we love. By any means necessary.” 

Dean feels his fingers twitch with a quiet rage, but the creep vibe he’s getting from Bartholomew skyrockets. The man’s tone is calm. Too calm to be speaking so openly about what Dean perceives as a veiled threat. 

“Wanna elaborate on that?” 

Bartholomew smirks. “Sometimes people don’t truly appreciate the beauty of what they have, be it a thing or even a person. They squander it. They hurt it. They take it for granted. It’s a hard thing to watch.” 

Dean shrugs before finishing off his whiskey. “Maybe what you think is ‘wasting something’ is just someone’s way of showing how much they care about it,” Dean argues, smiling just enough to poke at Bartholomew. 

It’s fleeting, but Bartholomew’s smirk dissipates and in its place is a cold, empty glare that chills Dean to his core. But his smirk returns just as quickly as it vanished, and Bartholomew stands up from his stool. 

“Maybe so, Agent Young. But when I see something so… beautiful be mistreated and abused by someone—especially someone who never deserved such a thing in the first place—I find myself overcome with the need to protect and value it the way it deserves.” Bartholomew’s tone is slightly more unhinged, an accusatory tone punctuating his words, Bartholomew pauses, taking a deep breath to collect himself. Dean knows though. Bartholomew's not talking about a thing, but a person, and whether it’s on purpose or not, Dean finally sees gets small glimpse at the control-freak that lies underneath Bartholomew’s charming, businessman-like exterior. 

“Don’t know about you, Bart, but sounds like you’re a little selfish,” Dean accuses. 

That earns him a half-smirk and glare from Bartholomew. “As you said, one person’s perception may not be the reality. I hope that maybe one day, Agent Young, you’ll find that person or thing that you cherish and would do anything to protect.” Bartholomew backs away, that smirk never leaving his face. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be leaving.” 

Bartholomew’s gone just like that, outside the doors of the bar, leaving Dean with a swirling torrent of emotions that thrash about inside his head. He’s angry and ready to put his fist through the nearest wall. 

Dean’s not sure who to be mad at. He’s the one who fucked up his relationship with Cas, and he’s the reason Cas is here in Newport, sleeping with a psychotic businessman who seems giddy about rubbing that fact in Dean’s face. But there’s a part of him that wants to blame everyone else, too. Fuck his dad for making him hate everything supernatural. Fuck the world for being so damn complicated. And fuck Bartholomew for getting to experience what Dean’s been craving ever since he shut Cas out all those years ago. 

He doesn’t even have the mental capacity to wonder if he’s blown his cover, not that it matters. He just contemplates the best way to numb the pain, preferably quickly and thoroughly. 

It’s Pamela’s approach that saves him from making another piss-poor and self-injurious decision. 

“Couldn’t help but overhear some of that. Gotta say, Bart’s still as big a dick now as he’s always been,” she comments as she looks up at him. 

Dean takes a couple of breaths and shrugs while Pamela has mercy on him and grabs another beer from the fridge. “On the house—provided you can make it back home safe and sound.” 

Dean accepts it and takes a large chug, letting out a large sigh of much-needed relief. 

“Don’t really have a home, especially not here, but—uh—much appreciated on the beer,” Dean grunts, wishing that he could actually feel a buzz again. Even another beer does little to curb his growing rage. 

“It’s the least I can do. Most people who deal with Bart need a drink or twenty to shake it off.” 

Dean snorts in amusement. “Yeah? Well, I’ve had practice dealing with dicks like him. You get used to it after a while.” 

“Seems like he touched a different kind of nerve with you,” she retorts, and Dean just takes another swig of his beer, neither confirming nor denying her assessment. “Just between you and me, I’d watch out for Bart.” 

Dean raises and eyebrow. “And why’s that?” 

Pamela laughs a little while pulling out some freshly-washed glasses and a rag to start drying them. “You can fool some people, but not me. Sixth sense remember? I could sense those goosebumps crawling up your arm from a mile away.” 

Dean studies Pamela for a moment, but sighs and relents. “Alright, you got me. Guy’s a dick, but he doesn’t seem like your average dick.” 

“Got that right. He’s been trouble ever since he blew into town. Fought ol’ Cain for his company and drove the poor man insane to get it.” 

Dean snorts in amusement. “What? He stare the old man to death?” 

Suddenly, the jovial air surrounding Pamela vanishes and in its place there’s a gravity that’s just as off-putting as Bartholomew. 

“If it only that were it.” Pamela huffs and sets the glasses she’s wiping down on the counter. “Old man Cain started seeing things. Poor man lost his wife, Colette, a few years back, before Bart ever showed up. Cain was fine after a while, nothing out of the ordinary for a grieving widower. Then Bart shows up and tries to buy him out, but Cain refuses. It wasn’t even two weeks after the showdown that Cain starts claiming he can see his dead wife again. Poor man nearly drank himself into a coma, and the business suffered. His investors made him sell after that.” 

The alarm bells in Dean’s head sound off again, hearing her story. He immediately thinks of Daphne Allen and Shane Welch. Three people who claimed they could see dead loved ones is too much to pass off as a coincidence, and suddenly, Dean wonders if he’s found the break he’s been hoping for. 

“What happened to this Cain guy?” he quickly asks. 

“Last I heard, he’s still around. Heard he maybe got a place out on the cliffs to get away from it all. No one really goes out there anymore.” 

Dean swallows down the last of the beer before slamming it down on the table and fishing a twenty out of his wallet to pass to Pamela. 

“Thanks for the story, but I—uh—gotta go,” Dean says scrambling to his feet. 

Pamela smirks and accepts the twenty. “Just be careful. Seems like you’re getting deep into something that someone doesn’t want exposed. You poke the bear enough and it’s gonna come after you.” 

Dean’s not sure how to take her words. On the surface it seems like jibber-jabber, but behind the smirk she’s wearing, Dean knows it’s a serious warning. She’s pushing him in the direction that he needs to go in to solve this mess, but he has a strong feeling someone’s not going to like it. 


	8. Chapter 8

When Dean wakes up, his eyes are so covered in crust that he almost can’t open them, and his mouth tastes like something died in it. He’d stayed sober enough to get back from Jesse’s, then proceeded to down most of a case of beer, the remnants of which Dean barely manages to avoid stepping on as he makes his way to bathroom. 

As he relieves himself and splashes his face with water, Dean takes stock. Despite the hangover, he feels better than he had last night because he’s got a lead that might absolve Cas. 

On the other hand, he can’t shake the chills Bartholomew gives him. The man is a secret serial killer disguised as a small-town millionaire. The way Bartholomew talks about Cas still unsettles him. It’s beyond infatuation… it’s almost like an ownership. But Pamela’s revelation that Bartholomew had it out with someone  _ else _ who started seeing a dead relative could be the break he needs to find out what Bartholomew’s deal is. 

When he’s finished up in the bathroom, he grabs his phone and dials Benny, definitely not thinking about the fact that he still has no missed calls or texts from Cas. 

“Mornin’, brother. You got something for me?” Benny answers the phone with a noticeable lack of his usual morning cheer. 

“I might, but I still got some stuff to look into first,” Dean answers with caution. 

“Don’t forget: you only got a day, Dean.” 

Dean huffs. “Yeah… haven’t forgotten. He plops down on the bed, opening up his laptop again to the old Newport Gazette article on Bartholomew and Mark Cain. “What do you know about Mark Cain?”

“Old man Cain?” There’s a brief pause and Dean can envision Benny sitting at his desk in thought. “Depends on what you want to know. What does the old man have to do with this?” 

“I think he may have some information on our shapeshifter,” Dean says. “I got a lead from Pamela down at Jesse’s. She said Cain started seeing his dead wife a few years ago after a company dispute.” 

Dean’s read the article at least ten times already, but he skims it again, just because. It’s clear Cain and Bartholomew didn’t see eye-to-eye on how the business should be run, and eventually the right to own the business turned into a giant custody case. It’s just like Pamela said, though. The company’s support shifted almost overnight from Cain to Bartholomew, for what the article summarizes as ‘reasons related to Mark Cain’s erratic behavior’. Dean knows it simply means he went crazy, seeing his dead wife. And if Pamela is right, the shifter could be the one behind that. Or even Bartholomew.  

“Yeah, I was around for that. Real nasty spat. I was beginning to think one of them wouldn’t make it out of the whole thing alive,” Benny replies. “In the end, it worked itself out. Old man Cain moved outta town and Bart took over the company. What’s ol’ Pamela sayin?” 

“Pamela said that Cain was having visions of his dead wife. Sound familiar?” 

Benny’s silent for a moment, but Dean can hear rustling papers in the background. “Sonuvabitch,” Benny curses as the rustling gets louder and more aggressive. He even hears the sound of file cabinets being open and shut. 

“Everything alright?” Dean asks. 

“I can’t believe that bastard was right,” Benny grumbles offhandedly. 

Dean raises an eyebrow confusion. “Who the hell are you talking about?” 

Benny sighs and finally the background noise ceases and he’s left with only the sound of Benny’s voice. “Andre. During the whole company-ownership spat, the sheriff felt it was best to keep a police escort on both Bart and Cain, what with all the mudslinging and threats. Andre did patrol around Cain’s place.” 

“And?” 

“Hold on.” Papers rustle in the background again, and Dean anxiously awaits whatever it is that Benny’s about to say. “Here it is. Andre wrote an off-the-record report about one of the nights he spent patrolling Cain’s place. Ahh… here! He wrote down that he saw a woman in the window of Cain’s home that matched the looks of Cain’s deceased wife, Colette. Since no crime was actually committed, though, the report never got made official.”   

Dean feels a rush of excitement at this potential break in the case. “You think the shifter took the shape of Cain’s dead wife?” 

“I don’t know, brother. But Cain might’ve be this shifter’s first victim.” 

Dean swallows as a sudden realization pops into his head. “That, and we got a link between your partner’s suicide and this case. If that shifter caught him peeking, then he could’ve been next on the list.” 

“Dean… you gotta get up there and talk to Cain.” 

“Two steps ahead of you. Just need his address and I’ll see what I can find out.” 

“Gimme a few minutes and I’ll track it down for you,” Benny promises. “I think this goes without saying, but watch your back, brother.” 

“Yeah. Pamela, she gave me this weird warning:  told me I was ‘poking the bear.’ I got a feeling she’s on to something. But don’t worry about me, Benny. You watch your own back.” 

Benny chuckles, but Dean hear the nervousness in it. “Pamela knows what she’s talkin’ about. If she says watch your back, you best do it. Gimme five on that address, alright?” 

“Sounds good.” 

They hang up and Dean’s itching to get out of the room now. He tiptoes over the empty beer bottles and dirty clothes scattered around the room, not bothering to pick anything up. Instead, he jumps in the shower and lets the hot water splash against his body. 

Cas is the only thing on his mind. 

He can’t forget how Cas didn’t shy away from his touch when they were in the Impala, how he let Dean rest his hand on his thigh, just like old times. Times when they hadn’t been able to save the victim, and all they had was each other. 

But he reminds himself that Cas shares those moments with others now, including Bartholomew. He wonders if he’ll see Cas again or if Cas is long gone already, escaping before he can see the life he’s built for himself come crashing down around him. Either way, Dean’s knows he won’t stop until he solves this case, if only to prove that Cas is innocent. 

Shower finished, Dean steps out to dry himself off. It’s, of course, right then that he hears a few light raps against his door. 

He’s immediately on alert. He’s not expecting anyone, and the only one who would even be looking for him is Benny and he’s obviously down at the station. As he steps outside of the bathroom, Pamela’s words play in his head and he’s glad that his gun is on the desk nearby. 

Wrapping the towel around his waist and using one hand to hold it in place, he makes his way to the door. 

“Who is it?” he asks. 

There’s no response. Maybe it was just housekeeping?  Then he hears the familiar, “Dean… it’s me.” 

Dean stops dead in his tracks. Somehow, on the very short list of people he thought could be at his door, Cas isn’t one he actually he expects. Unconcerned about his lack of clothing, Dean opens the door to find Cas standing there, wearing yesterday’s clothes and with heavy bags under his eyes, as though he didn’t sleep an ounce last night. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers. 

Cas swallows and looks almost pitiful as he stands, rigid and unsure, in the doorway. “Hello, Dean.” 

Dean steps aside and lets Cas in, and Cas hesitates for a moment before accepting the silent invitation. Dean closes the door behind him and can’t help staring at Cas, ignoring the water that drips down his body and onto the floor. Cas’ eyes are glued to Dean’s naked figure, and Dean knows the only reason he’s not embarrassed about being basically naked in front of Cas is because Cas has already seen him stripped bare more times than Dean can count. 

It quickly becomes uncomfortable as neither of them say a word. Dean is the one to finally let his guard down, when he approaches Cas hesitantly. 

“Cas, where the hell have you been? I was looking everywhere for you.” 

Cas scratches at the little bit of peach fuzz that is starting to come in on his face, making him look even more disheveled. 

“I needed a place to get away and clear my head,” Cas says matter-of-factly. Dean feels his brow furrow; for some reason, Cas’ answer isn’t good enough for him. Not when Cas apparently assumes that Dean thinks he could be responsible for murdering all these people. 

“Oh yeah, that makes sense,” Dean says mockingly, ignoring—for the moment—that he doesn’t exactly have a right to know where Cas went. “There’s definitely not someone or something going around killing people, or anything.” 

Cas attempts to glare, but at best it looks like a mildly irritated grimace, and Dean knows Cas is truly distracted and exhausted when he can’t manage his trademark ‘I’ll wipe you off the face of the earth’ glare. 

“My apologies for disappearing. I’ll make sure to remember what to do next time someone believes I murdered someone.” The accusation falls heavy between them and a chill colder than the air in the room crawls up Dean’s spine. 

“Cas—” 

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas interrupts. It’s anything but. Cas is unsteady on his feet and avoids Dean’s glare, eyes shifting to the side in what looks like shame. “I can admit… it doesn’t look good. But seeing April’s body just so dead and lifeless like that, and then hearing you and Benny believe I could do such a thing, I—”

“Alright, hold up,” Dean angrily cuts in. “I don’t know where the hell you got the idea that I thought you did this, but I don’t, alright?” Cas wants to protest, but Dean doesn’t give him the chance. “Look. Benny… he’s got his own thoughts, but I know you didn’t do this, Cas. I think I’ve got a lead that I think will clear your name, too.”

Finally, the self-loathing fades from Cas’ expression and he raises an eyebrow curiously. “What do you mean?” 

Dean cracks a small smile. There’s nothing to smile about, but he’ll take Cas’ curiosity over the frightened and depressed expression he’d been wearing so far. 

“Yeah. I—uh—went down to Jesse’s after I went looking for you, and ran into Pamela.” He leaves out the part about Bartholomew being there, for now. It’s not worth testing the waters with Cas. He’ll broach that topic later. “She told me about this guy, Cain, who apparently went crazy after supposedly seeing his dead wife.” 

Cas eyes slowly widen and his lips part slightly. He looks away from Dean, his mind lost in thought, and Dean loves that pensive look Cas gets when the gears in his mind start turning. 

“Of course,” Cas mutters. “I should’ve thought about that.” 

“About what?” Dean asks. 

“Cain.” Cas looks up at Dean with a more resolved look, as though I lightbulb has gone off in his head. “I’d heard the rumors of what had happened before he disappeared, but I simply believed his grief had caused him to lose his mind. But now… it’s very possible that he wasn’t hallucinating at all.” 

Without a word, Dean walks over to his bed and the clothes that are scattered over it, dropping the towel from his hips, unconcerned that Cas is watching— _ staring— _ at him the entire time. 

“Umm, I can… leave if you need,” Cas mutters softly, and Dean can see the bashfulness reflected in the blush tingeing his cheeks. 

Dean shrugs. “Ain’t nothing you haven’t already seen.” 

There’s a tiny part of him that feels wrong doing this, especially so close to April’s death. But there’s a bigger part of him that enjoys the familiar thrill of stripping in front of Cas. Once upon a time, Cas would’ve jumped him the second his shirt was off. Now, Cas just shyly turns away after he realizes he’s been staring too long and Dean eventually shimmies into a pair of boxers before throwing on his pants. 

“So, you comin’?” Dean asks, once all his clothes are on. 

“Coming?” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “To see this Cain guy. Benny should be sending me his address any minute now. Gonna pay the guy a visit and see what he can tell us.” 

“Oh.” Cas looks away for a moment. “I haven’t exactly thought about what I was going to do.” 

Dean smirks before making his way to Cas and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re coming with me then. But—uh—shower first. You look a little worse for wear.” 

“But I don’t have any clothes with me,” Cas protests. 

“What? You can’t just use your magic to bring some here?” 

It’s Cas’ turn to roll his eyes and huff. “I used enough magic just to get here without taking my car. I need time to regain my strength.” 

“Well, looks like you’ll be borrowing my clothes, just like the good ol’ days. Just make sure you remember to give em back this time.” 

Dean fishes an old but clean t-shirt and jeans out of his bag and tosses them to Cas. For a moment, Cas just stands and stares at the clothes and Dean’s not sure if he’ll accept them or not. His fears are put to rest when Cas offers a slight smile. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“No need to thank me, Cas. Just—uh—don’t take too long. The sooner we can get to Cain, the sooner we can clear your name,” Dean says, trying his hardest not to grin, but failing. He’s ashamed to admit, even to himself, how unsettled he is by Cas’ smile, but there’s not much he can do about that now, especially as Cas disappears into the bathroom. 

Dean collapses onto the bed and pulls up his laptop, determined to focus on the case and not on Cas’ smile or the fact that he’s naked in his shower on the other side of the door. 

He reminds himself that he’s only here for a little longer. That there isn’t enough time to see if he could fix everything he did wrong to Cas, so all he can do is make it up to him now by clearing his name and eventually moving on.

That’s the best for both of them. 

______________________

 

The winding road up to the cabin is damp as sleet falls lightly and a fog settles, so Dean takes the Impala around each curve slowly. Everything from the sky to the water off the coast is gray, save for those few trees that still have their vibrant, fiery-colored leaves. Cas is silent beside him, but Dean can tell he’s calmer. Maybe it’s the shower, or the new clothes,  _ Dean’s _ clothes, but something about Cas seems more at ease. 

Dean’s not quite sure when he himself became more relaxed, but somehow Cas’ return has him feeling looser. Thoughts of Cas being a witch—and a possible murder suspect—don’t bother him anymore. If any other witch was in his vicinity, he’s positive he’d be thinking of any and every possible way to kill them. He wonders if he’s developed a soft spot for witches, or if Cas is the only exception. 

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Cas says offhandedly. 

Dean turns to Cas and chuckles a little. “What? You can read minds, too?” 

That finally cracks the facade Cas had put up, and a smile touches the corner of Cas’ lips.  Dean watches as Cas shakes his head. “Witches can’t read minds. However, your expressions have never been particularly hard to figure out.” 

Dean snorts while turning back to the road. “I think Sam would disagree with you on that. Won’t ever stop trying to get me to talk about my feelings and shit.” 

“How is Sam? Is he still in school?” 

“Son of a bitch is still as smart as they come. Got a full ride to law school and everything. School’s kickin’ his ass, though.” 

Cas smiles, and Dean can’t help but turn towards the fondness that radiates from Cas’ expression. He tries his damndest not to smile back, but it’s hard. It’s still odd that they can be smiling when there’s dead bodies and a murderous shapeshifter possibly lurking around, but here they are. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. I always knew he’d succeed at whatever he put his mind to,” Cas says. There’s a brief pause before Cas speaks again. “You, too.” 

Dean coughs, and he knows it’s awkward. “Yeah—well—uh... You seemed to have landed pretty well, too. Everyone seems to love you here. Benny, Pamela, April… Bartholomew.”

Maybe it’s the way he says Bartholomew’s name, but Cas pins him with a knowing look. 

Cas sighs. “I know what you’re trying to do, Dean, and for your own peace of mind you should just drop it.” 

Dean does the exact opposite. “It’s just… why him, Cas? Guy gives me the creeps, and he seems like a total possessive dick.” 

Cas glares at him briefly before turning away. “It’s none of your business, Dean.” 

“Yeah, I know. But… I guess, I don’t know, I—” Dean stops short of saying he worries about him, afraid of what reaction that would elicit from Cas, and just stops talking for a moment. Cas doesn’t bother to look at him, either, which he’s more than thankful for. After a minute or two of silence, he figures he’ll try again. “I’ve heard such dick things about the guy. I just don’t understand what you see in him. You used to hate guys like him.” 

“Despite all the rumors about him, Bartholomew has been nothing but kind to me. He doesn’t judge me, and he’s someone I’ve been able to trust and confide in,” Cas counters. 

Dean snorts, amused, as he recalls his first time meeting Bartholomew. Suddenly, Dean has an idea where Cas went after disappearing and it makes his stomach gurgle in protest. 

“Guess that’s where you disappeared to after you accused me of thinkin’ you were a murderer, huh?” He can’t help the jealousy that creeps up into his tone, but it hurts that Cas probably went to Bartholomew over him. “Damn it, Cas. You could’ve come to me. Bart doesn’t even know what you are or what you’re dealing with.” 

“Even so, he’s treated me far better than other people I know.” 

Dean’s jaw tightens and he shuts up. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted this car ride to go, but here they are, bickering. It’s just another reminder of the damage he’s done to Cas and how little Cas truly wants him to be here in Newport right now. 

They drive in silence for several minutes, Cas’ arms crossed as he frowns out the window. Dean tries his hardest to focus on the road, but can’t shake the anger that Cas directed at him. It’s suffocating sitting beside Cas like this. 

He exhales and finally glances over at Cas before turning back to the road. “Look, I’m sorry for grillin’ you about Bart. It’s just hard seeing you happy after I screwed up, alright?” That does little to sway Cas to drop the scowl, so Dean keeps on just to get it off his chest. “Look, we finish this case, and I’ll be out of your hair, and you can go back to wishing I was dead.” He adds a little laugh to lighten the mood, but all he gets is a bemused look. 

“Even though we didn’t part on good terms… I never wished you ill, Dean. I still don’t. Through all of it, the sadness, the angry, the bitterness… I never stopped caring about you. Maybe it was because, in some ways, it was my fault for lying.” 

_ Son of bitch.  _

Dean doesn’t say anything for a few moments, letting Cas words hang in the air between them for a few moments, and he feels his jaw tighten. What do you say to that? In some sick way, Dean feels this deep-seated rage at the idea of Cas feeling even remotely guilty. What happened that night was all Dean’s fault, not Cas’. The two years of misery and aimless wandering, trying to drown out the questions—what is Cas doing, is he okay, has he found someone else—with booze and easy sex, were all his doing. 

And now he knows. Cas moved on. He found others to fill his time, and now he’s got Bartholomew to warm his bed at night, to comfort him and to confide in. All things Dean used to do for Cas. 

Beside him, Cas looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. That’s how they drive the next several minutes, in total silence. Though he hopes Cain’s home isn’t so far away, the GPS on his phone puts their arrival time ten minutes out which is more than he can bear in this silence. 

“Back at the diner the other day, you never did finish telling me about your upbringing as a witch. I still wanna know. What it’s like and what all comes with this whole ‘witch’ thing,” he finally says, trying to change the subject. 

Cas tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?” 

“You know… the powers and stuff. How does it work?” Cas fixes him with a puzzled glance, but Dean simply shrugs in response. “What? You never did finish.” 

Cas tilts his head again. “Because I’m still confused, Dean. As I said back at the diner, you hate witches. I still don’t understand why you’re asking me about being one.” 

“Maybe I just want to know more,” Dean argues. “You know, get a better idea of what it’s like for you. Maybe get to know this side of you better.” 

“And yet, you said you wanted nothing to do with me because I was a witch. I believe it was something along the lines of ‘witches are dirty and disgusting’,” Cas reminds him. Dean doesn’t argue because he’s lost track of how many times he’s said something disparaging about witches. 

Dean sighs. “Alright. I admit, I said some real messed up stuff about witches, and I’m… sorry Cas. Alright. I mean, every witch I’ve met, besides you, abused their powers.” It’s a shoddy apology, Dean knows. But how do you apologize to someone you loved— _ still love _ —for berating their kind for all these years? It’s a miracle Cas is even still in the Impala after Dean asked the question. “Maybe this can be a new start for me. Kinda like a rehabilitation for my crappy upbringing hating all things supernatural.” 

Cas is silent for a few moment and Dean fully expects he won’t speak again until they’re finally at Cain’s home, but to his surprise Cas huffs. “When I turned thirteen my mother started teaching me witchcraft. Unlike most witches, I was born with my powers. My mother was a witch—a very powerful one, and she passed down that aptitude for witchcraft to me. She said the gift came very easily to me. Apparently when I was only six I was accidentally levitating things.” 

“Thirteen seems kind of young,” Dean comments offhandedly. 

Cas shrugs. “It’s no younger than when your father exposed you to hunting. Given the world we live in, it was better to teach me young than for me to learn too late in life to defend myself from hunters who don’t discriminate between good witches and bad ones.” 

Even if it’s not a direct shot at him—which Dean’s sure it is, at least a little bit—he takes it as one. It’s hard to change his mindset on witches. His father drilled into both him and Sam that all things supernatural were evil, and Dean spent most of his life, from the time he was four until now, committing that to memory. Seeing his mother burned alive, along with all the other atrocities committed by the demon while he and his family had tracked it, had been more than enough to convince Dean that his dad was right. 

Then along came Cas. Cas was the first thing to make him confront the possibility that nothing is black and white, not even the supernatural and those who dabble in it. 

“Oh—uh—yeah. Guess that makes sense.” 

Their conversation is put on hold as Dean makes a turn, bringing a big, white house into view. For a moment, Dean wonders if he’s in the right place, but the address and description Benny gave him match what he’s seeing as he pulls into the makeshift driveway. To his side, he sees what look like giant, makeshift beehives alongside dilapidated wooden structures, and he wonders what the hell Cain does up here. 

The Impala roars to a stop, and Dean takes a deep breath before turning to Cas. 

“You ready?” he asks. Cas nods, lips pulled taut and his expression unreadable as ever. “Alright. Let’s go see what this ex-businessman knows.” 

Dean gets out of the comforting warmth of the Impala, and is hit with the cold, drizzly air. He hears Cas’ car door slam shut and he makes his way to the front of the house. 

“You know anything about this Cain guy?” Dean asks as they walk up the porch to the front door. 

“No. When I first began working at the bar, he would come in every so often, but he hardly spoke to anyone besides Pamela. I was only there a few weeks before he stopped coming altogether,” Cas answers. 

“Well, first time for everything, I guess,” Dean remarks as he knocks on the screen door. 

A bitter wind blows as the drizzle turns to a steady, cold rain, hitting their backs and sending chills all up and down Dean’s body. Dean isn’t a religious man, but he wonders if this is warning sign. No one answers for a couple of minutes, and Dean knocks again, louder this time. 

It’s another few minutes of complete silence while he considers leaving, but the moment he turns to tell Cas, the door unlocks and opens. Standing behind the screen is a very disgruntled-looking man, who looks ready to kill them just for being there. Everything about the man—Cain, he assumes—looks tired. His face is covered in a graying beard, but his blue eyes are piercing. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” Cain asks. 

Dean looks to Cas, who, despite being a witch and probably capable of bringing this house down if he chooses, seems bothered in Cain’s presence. 

Dean swallows and decides he’ll be the one to take the lead since coming here was his idea. “Mark Cain, right?” 

Cain studies him, his face not budging at all from his irritated glance. “Who wants to know?” 

“Agent Neil Young with the FBI, and this is Castiel, who’s assisting with the investigation. We just had some questions for you about a case were working,” Dean announces. 

Cain looks to Cas and squints. “I know you. You worked at Pamela’s place.” 

Cas nods. “It’s good to see you again.” 

Cain doesn’t seem the least bit impressed, and makes no move to unlock the screen door.  Dean fully expects him to slam it in their faces. 

“I have nothing that you would be looking for, Mr. Young. Now, I suggest you leave. The roads up here are dangerous during a rain,” Cain warns as he moves to close the door. 

“We’re here to talk to you about your wife, or whatever it was you saw two years ago.” 

Cain freezes and his eyes go wide for a moment before they narrow. Now there’s an even more accusatory and dangerous glance in his sharp blue eyes. “What do you know about that?” 

“I assure you, we are only here to listen to your side of the story. We have reason to believe that what you experienced has happened to others, as well,” Cas explains. 

Cain’s expression doesn’t change, but he does eventually unlock the screen door and let them both in. Dean doesn’t hesitate to rush immediately into the dry warmth of Cain’s home. Once he and Cas are inside, Cain shuts the doors behind them and walks off towards what Dean assumes is the kitchen. 

“Have a seat,” Cain directs before disappearing. 

Dean looks and Cas who shrugs and moves to sit on the larger couch. Dean hesitates, instead opting to scan the den where they’re currently waiting. The room is dark and homey, but Dean’s captivated by the container full of bees that sits off in the corner. He moves closer to the apiary, leaning down to watch as a colony full of bees buzzes and squirms around. 

“Who the hell keeps bees?” Dean whispers. 

Cas huffs. “I am quite fond of bees. And, it’s not polite to question someone’s lifestyle, Dean. Sit down.” 

“You gotta admit, it’s pretty weird, Cas. Not something your normal, not-crazy person does.”

Cas rolls his eyes and says nothing, but Dean continues looking around. There’s nothing wrong with keeping bees, but it sure doesn’t help with the whole  _ Cain’s crazy _ thing that he’s been hearing around town. The sound of glasses clinking makes straighten up immediately, and he turns to see Cain walking back in with a tray full of tea and cups in hand. 

“I keep bees in my spare time. There’s something relaxing about it. The honey is simply an added bonus,” Cain explains monotonously as he sets the tray down on the coffee table. Dean swallows and sits beside Cas while Cain passes teacups on saucers to both Dean and Cas before sitting down opposite them in a wooden chair. 

Dean isn’t much of a tea drinker, but he shifts his eyes to left to see Cas sipping away at his, so Dean follows suit. 

“This tea is very delicious,” Cas comments as he places his cup down on the saucer. 

“The secret is fresh honey,” Cain says plainly before leaning back in his seat and slowly glancing back and forth between the two of them. He’s silent for a minute, the sounds of them sipping their tea, the fireplace crackling, and the rain pouring outside the only sounds. “So, you’re here to talk to me about the thing that I saw two years ago?” 

Finally. Dean sets his saucer and cup down on the table before leaning back on the couch. 

“We—uh—have reason to believe that some other people in Newport may have been suffering from the same hallucinations as you were,” Dean answers. 

“Hallucinations,” Cain replies, a hint of scorn in his tone. “That’s what my doctor told me I was suffering from when I told him my dead wife was standing in my home. He said it was the work stress from Bartholomew’s hostile takeover attempt that made me envision my dead wife.” 

“I take it that’s not what you thought, huh?” Dean questions. 

Cain sets his cup and saucer down on the table, too, before turning up to Dean. “Do either of you believe in the supernatural?”  

Dean looks at Cas right as Cas turns to him, and Dean hopes this is where he’ll get the information that he really needs. 

“We believe that what you saw may not have been a hallucination,” Cas says. 

Dean nods. “It would be real helpful if you told us exactly what happened.” 

Cain takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly, and there’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. There’s sadness and anger in Cain’s eyes now, and where Dean was initially cautious and curious, he’s now anxious and a little creeped out. 

“My wife, Colette, died of cancer five years ago. I remember everything from the moment I met her to the moment she was buried.” Cain pauses as a flash of fury crosses his expression, one that chills Dean to his core. “I also know that two years ago, Colette—or something that looked like her—was sitting on my couch waiting for me when I came home.” 

Dean takes in a deep breath. Everything about this reek of a shifter, but for some reason, hearing Cain’s story, he feels like there’s something even more sinister behind this. 

“How does your dead wife just… pull herself out of the grave and onto your couch?” Dean challenges. 

“That wasn’t my wife,” Cain says. “That thing… whatever it was, may have been wearing her dress that she loved so much, and it might have looked and spoken just like her, but I know it wasn’t her.”

“How so?” Cas asks. 

Cain picked up his tea again, his composure returning to him. “Besides the fact that I watched them bury my wife six feet under, when you love someone as long as I loved Colette, you know when it’s not them. That  _ thing _ wasn’t my wife.” 

“So, what happened after that?’ 

Cain shrugged. “I told anyone who would listen. I even filmed it. It’s eyes… they would glow this unnatural white when I filmed it. 

“Wait, do you still have that video?” Dean interrupts immediately. 

Cain takes another sip of tea. “Unfortunately, my phone was stolen before I could show it to the police. Without that evidence, no one believed me… besides one person, and that was Pamela. I told her everything when I was trying to drown my misery and she believed me. In fact, she was the one who told me to get out of my house.” 

Dean looks to Cas and the nod lets him knows that Cas is thinking the same thing he is. Now they know it’s a shifter. The only thing that’s still bothering him is the claws, but then again, it’s possible he encountered a shifter that wasn’t shifting. He shudders at the thought, but tucks that way for knowledge later. 

“There wasn’t anyone else who might’ve believed your story?” Dean asks. He shifts his eyes to the side to see Castiel glaring at him with a mix between curiosity and irritation, but Dean has a feeling he knows what the missing link is between this case and the last open one. 

“There was one… the officer who was watching over my home. He wasn’t as skeptical as the rest. I heard he passed away not long ago, unfortunately.” 

“So what happened to your not-wife?” Dean asks. 

“Before I answer your question, agent, allow me a question. What is your fascination with what happened to me? The town labeled me as crazy for suggesting that my dead wife was suddenly alive and in my house, but out of the blue, you and a bartender show up asking questions about it. What are you after?” 

Dean swallows, unsure of how to answer the question, but he knows that he has nothing to lose with Cain. 

“We think the thing that took the shape of your wife is a shapeshifter and that it attacked me a few nights ago.” 

The admission doesn’t seem to surprise Cain. All Cain does is pour himself another cup of tea before adding a spoonful of honey to it. 

“Let me guess, it was near the forest?” Cain asks. 

“How’d you know?” Dean asks, fixing Cain with a puzzled glance. 

Cain just sips his tea again. “To answer your previous question, when the investors removed me to put Bartholomew in charge of the company, I moved out of my home as soon as I could. The thing disappeared after that. Almost as though it had been waiting for me to leave. Since then, I have heard rumors of something strange lurking in the forest at night. I have no doubt in my mind that it’s that thing. Consider yourself lucky to be alive.” Cain sets his saucer down again. “My suggestion to you, agent: don’t press your luck. If you survived it once, thank whatever god you believe in and leave it alone.”

Dean turns to Cas who looks lost in thought. Dean’s sure Cas has questions, but he also can tell Cain is growing tired of their company, so he turns to Cain and smiles. “Thank you for your time.” 

Dean stands and Cas follows suit and they both make their way to the door, and Cain stands to follow them out. 

“I only hope I was of some help to you two,” Cain says. 

“Very much so. Thank you for your time,” Castiel replies as he opens the door, Dean, much to his chagrin, stepping out into the cold rain again. Cain doesn’t waste any time before the door closes and locks behind them, but Dean is focused on getting out of the rain and back into the car. When they’re inside the Impala, they sit in silence for a few moments. A multitude of thoughts cross Dean’s mind, but he’s positive he already knows what they’re going to have to do, and he’s not sure how he feels about it. 

“What are you thinking?” Cas asks. 

“I think Cain is one lucky bastard.” 

“While I don’t disagree with you about that, I meant more about what our next move will be.” 

Dean starts the Impala, letting the engine roar to life before turning to Cas. “If that thing wanted to kill me once, we’re gonna give it another shot. We’re gonna be takin’ the fight to the sonuvabitch.” 

Dean’s isn’t sure what he thought Cas’ reaction was going to be, but he definitely wasn’t expecting him to grin the way he is now as he looks straight ahead. 

“So we go in with a half-thought-out plan and guns,” Cas remarks, tone holding no judgment or scrutiny. Just fondness. “Just like old times, I guess.” 

Dean can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as throws the Impala in reverse, and they pull out of Cain’s makeshift driveway before taking off down the path back to the main road. 

“Yep. Just like old times."


	9. Chapter 9

Jesse’s is pretty lively for a dive bar in a town that’s had yet another person mysteriously murdered. It almost seems as though no one cares about April’s death. Cas does, obviously, and Pamela seems more somber than usual, her flirty glance no longer there before she disappears into the back of the bar. But everyone else? They just keep talking and carrying on, eating their crappy bar food and drinking their beer, as if nothing happened. It’s odd that even Dean himself feels more remorseful for April’s death when he can’t deny that wished she’d just disappear when he saw how she looked at Cas. 

“You new in town?”

Dean takes a swig of his beer before offering a polite grin to the man who sidled up next to him at the bar with a full glass of beer. 

“Uh, yeah. Just blew in, actually,” Dean answers casually. The man isn’t unattractive: slender, young-looking, with dark hair and big brown eyes. Dean could feel the guy’s eyes on him the moment he walked in, so this isn’t just casual talk. Dean knows the routine, though. He wants something—probably sex. He figures maybe it’s the restlessness he has sitting in the bar that attracted the guy to him. If it were any other situation, Dean wouldn’t mind going home with him. 

The man leans in and grins. “Aaron.” 

“Neil,” Dean replies. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Cas quietly cleaning glasses. While he’s not doing so now, Dean knows Cas is keeping an eye on them. The minute Aaron sat down, Dean could see Cas looking over when he thought Dean wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t want to call it jealousy, but it’s obviously something. 

“So… what brings you to Newport?” Aaron asks. 

“Business. I’m an FBI agent. Called in to help out with some old cases.” Dean looks up to see Cas slowly turning away from him and Aaron. Dean smirks and mentally laughs. At least he’s not trying to pretend anymore. 

“So, I guess you heard about that girl that was murdered, then, huh?”

Dean takes another swig of his beer. “Damn shame. Hope they catch the bastard who did it.” He doesn’t feel the need to mention that he saw April’s body or anything. 

Silence falls between the two of them for a moment, with Dean’s eyes shifting between Aaron and Cas, who has a visible scowl now. Aaron hasn’t caught on and takes a small sip from his glass. 

“Well if you’re looking for a distraction later tonight, I know a couple of places where we could go, if you wanna get out of here?” Aaron questions. 

Dean quirks an eyebrow in mild interest. He has no intention of going because he’s already got a prearranged date with Cas, the forest, and hopefully this damn shifter, but he doesn’t mind messing with Cas a bit. 

“Oh yeah. Whatcha thinkin?” Deans asks. 

That has Aaron smirking and Cas scowling even harder. “Well, I was thinking we could—” Aaron stops when the glass of beer that he’d set on the bar in front of him suddenly slides off the countertop, spilling into his lap while barely splashing Dean. “Damn it!” Aaron yells. 

Dean is hardly paying attention to Aaron, instead turning to Cas, who walks over with a rag in hand, his face expressionless even though Dean knows exactly what he did. 

“Here. You can go wash up in the restroom,” Cas says as Aaron takes the rag from him. 

Dean is about to speak, but Aaron is up and walking towards the bathrooms muttering a string of curses under his breath while curious patrons look on in wonder. Cas reaches under the bar grabbing another beer which he sets down in front of Dean, looking vindicated. 

“Figured you could use another,” Cas comments casually. 

“The hell was that for?” Dean questions. 

Cas shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, maybe it’s the glass of beer that just magically went flying off the counter on the guy.” Cas maintains his look of ignorance and Dean exhales and shakes his head. “Goddamnit, Cas. It was your idea for me to come here, anyways. Why can’t I flirt a little? Ain’t shit else to do here.” 

“We have a case to investigate, Dean. You don’t need to be fraternizing with someone, especially if this thing has already tried to kill you once.” Cas is indignant, not bothering to look in Dean’s direction, but Cas is a terrible liar and Dean can already see through him. 

“What, so you can screw Bart in your spare time, but I can’t have some fun?” 

“Dean,” Cas warns as he levels another glare at him. 

Dean rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’m dropping it, okay? But seriously, if you hadn’t keep talking my damn ear off about waiting for you to work your damn shift, I could be out there looking for the shifter now,” Dean argues. 

Cas huffs and rolls his eyes. “We already went through this Dean. I can’t lea—”

_ “— _ leave Pamela to work the shift alone. I’ve already heard it a million goddamn times, Cas.” Dean grabs the cold beer that Cas brought him and takes a swig before exhaling. “You know, you could just admit that you were jealous watching me with that Aaron guy.” 

His words earn him another one of Cas’ head tilts and a look of pure offense. 

“You seem to misinterpret my desire to keep your focus on the task at hand. I have no reason to be jealous of whatever you do, Dean.” Cas sets down the glass he’s finished wiping down a little too hard, and Dean swallows a little nervously. “You should find something to entertain yourself with, since you seem quite bored sitting here.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Look, Cas, I know it’s shitty what happened to April, but if we don’t get out there and find this thing now, she ain’t gonna be the only one dead by the time this is over. _ ”  _

Cas groans, but Dean ignores him, instead taking another swig of beer. After a moment, Cas lets the irritation that mars his face fade slightly and huffs. 

“I understand, Dean. I will talk to Pamela again,” Cas says before disappearing into the back room again. 

Dean’s left to his own devices, so he turns and scans the bar. He’s not really looking for anything suspicious, but he’s gotta do something to pass the time. Nothing stands out to him, as everyone is either engaged in conversation, drinking alone, or playing pool. After a while his mind drifts to Bartholomew. It was only two days ago that he was sitting here with the man, and their conversation hasn’t quit bothering him since. 

He hates the guy. He’s a smarmy dick, but it goes deeper than that, and Dean’s not sure why. 

He hears a door open and turns to see Cas walking out of the back room with Pamela in tow. Cas moves from behind the bar while Pamela walks up to Dean. 

“So, stealing my bartender for the night?” Pamela asks, that familiar smile returning. 

“Just have a few things to look over. I promise I’ll have him back before midnight,” Dean laughs. 

“Agent,” Cas warns as he motions to the door. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be right out.” Cas nods and leaves the bar, but before Dean can get up, he feels Pamela’s hand on his and he turns to see that her smile is gone again. He gets a chill when he sees concern and real fear on her face. 

“Everything alright?” Dean questions. 

“Call it intuition, but… just be careful. I already lost one person. Don’t need to lose another,” Pamela says. Dean isn’t sure how to take her worry, but she’s the reason he even knew to investigate Cain and his connection to the case so he gives her his best smile. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep him safe,” Dean promises. Dean stands up after that, waving to Pamela before she can stop him again, and finds Cas leaning against the Impala waiting for him. 

“What did Pamela want?” Cas asks as Dean walks up. 

Dean shrugs before unlocking the doors to the Impala. “Nothing. Just warned me about being careful.” They both settle into their seats and Dean starts the car but turns to Cas before throwing it in reverse. “You think she knows what we’re really up to? I just get a weird vibe from her.” 

Cas stares at Dean, puzzled, but shakes his head after a moment. “I wouldn’t think so. She is very… intuitive, but I don’t think she’s aware of what you’re here for.” 

Dean hums, pulls out of the bar, and makes his way over to the place where that thing had attacked him before. They drive in silence for a few minutes, and Dean’s mind is a mess of thoughts all clamoring to be in the forefront. He thinks about Cas in the bar, jealous over Aaron flirting with him. He thinks about how, only three nights ago, he was nearly killed by this thing he’s now hunting. He remembers the pain he felt in his shoulder where that monster’s claws had sunk in, and he can’t help but put his hand over it like he’s still bleeding out. 

“Are you ready for this?” Cas asks, as if reading his mind. 

“Yeah. It’s just a hunt. Got nothing to worry about,” Dean assures him. 

“Dean,” Cas prompts in that tone that invites Dean to open up to him. But he doesn’t want to. He’s not sure why Cas even wants to hear what he has to say after what Dean did to him, but the last thing Dean needs is to be vomiting all his thoughts to Cas right before the hunt. 

“It’s fine, Cas. Just wanna get this over with. That’s all.” 

Cas gazes at him for a moment, eyes unreadable, but Dean keeps his eyes firmly on the road in front of him. He knows his weakness. One look into those blue eyes and he’d been putty in the palm of Cas’ hands again. So he does what does best—ignore the problem and drown it out with work. 

______________________

Dean finds the spot that Benny told him about—a small, makeshift, dirt lot apparently used for hunting in the winter time—and pulls the Impala in. It feels colder now than before, but he just attributes it to chills before a hunt. 

When he shuts the Impala off, he grabs his Colt before opening the trunk. Cas wordlessly follows suit. Examining the trunk’s contents, Dean grabs his machete, still stained with blood from his last vampire hunt, and pockets it in his waistband before reaching for the last container of silver bullets. He mentally logs a reminder to make some more more when this is all over, with that old spell Bobby gave him. 

As he loads the silver bullets into the Colt, he looks at Cas, who’s watching him quietly. 

“You not gonna grab anything?” 

Cas looks slightly abashed and turns away for a moment before returning his gaze to Dean. “I don’t have a need for weapons.”

It takes a moment, but realization finally hits Dean and he chuckles. “Right. Witch.” It dawns on him now that all those times that Cas had been using a weapon, it was all for show. He smirks because somehow Cas, the man who sucks at lying, managed to hide that from him all those times. He smirks to hide the pain of Cas having to hide that part of himself for so long. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Cas asks. 

Dean fishes two flashlights out and tosses one to Cas. 

“Find the thing. Kill the thing. Call it a night. The usual business.”  He slams the trunk shut and and cocks his gun. “Any questions?” 

Cas doesn’t say anything just gazes at him before huffing and rolling his eyes. Clearly, Dean sees the question—or sarcastic comment—lingering on the tip of Cas’ tongue, but he maybe if ignores it, it’ll go away. After all, once this hunt is over, he has no reason to stay. 

“Let’s go hunt us a shifter,” Dean announces before he takes off into the underbrush, Cas silently following behind him. 

The moonlight leaves an eerie glow over the forest, the illumination of the forest matched only by the light of his and Cas’ flashlights. His gun is firmly in one hand, finger on the trigger finger, the other shining his flashlight back and forth. Cas is doing the same beside him, but he’s still quiet. Quieter than usual. 

It’s unnerving. 

The familiarity of this scenario, walking side by side with Cas as they hunt down their supernatural target, has his mind buzzing again. All of his hunts for the last two years have felt hollow, almost. He hunts, he kills, and then he moves on. It’s a job. There’s no enjoyment. Just something he has to do. But with Cas by his side, he feels like he has a purpose again. It scares him, how much one man can make all the difference. 

“You’re thinking again,” Cas says, breaking the silence that had comfortably settled between them. 

“Got a brain, don’t I?” Dean quips. 

Dean doesn’t need to look at Cas to envision the massive eye roll he’s probably getting. 

“You know what I mean. You seem—lost in thought,” Cas continues.

“Yeah, well. I got a lot on my mind.” 

“You should talk about it. You’re distracted and we’re in the middle of a hunt.” 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean grumbles. Cas stays silent and Dean knows he’s in the wrong, but he also doesn’t know what else to be. They walk in continued silence, but as Cas lags behind him Dean feels Cas’ gaze burning the back of his neck. 

“Do you think we’ll actually find this shifter out here?” Cas asks, obviously trying to fill the silence. Dean remembers when Cas used to be silent on hunts, only speaking when necessary. After they’d gotten together, Cas was a chatterbox. It took Dean a while to realize that it was to soothe Dean’s nerves during a hunt. It’s what he’s trying to do now. 

“I hope so. Sonuvabitch got a piece of me before, so hopefully it’ll come back for seconds.” 

Cas scoffs, but there’s no disdain behind it, just teasing. “That’s reassuring.” 

“If you got any better ideas on dragging it out, I’m all ears,” Dean quips. 

Cas says nothing and they wander in silence, shining the flashlights back and forth as they creep across the large expanse. There’s a bubble of tension building inside Dean, and it’s been growing for a while. Long before he saw a glimpse of Cas’ jealousy of Aaron. Long before he sat and listened to Bartholomew rub his relationship with Cas in his face. It’s been growing ever since he nearly bled to death in Jesse’s bar. 

He continues to walk like nothing’s wrong and Cas seems content to do the same, but the tension grows to be too much after only a couple of minutes and Dean needs to let some of it out. Against his better judgment, Dean asks one of the millions of the questions floating around in his head. He figures he’s nothing left to lose. It’s one last hunt and then he’ll be gone and trying to forget about Cas all over again.

“Why me, Cas?” 

“What do you mean?” Cas questions. 

“Why’d you pick me.” Dean pauses to collect himself as he mentally debates if he’s really going to go through with this. “Why me? You could’ve found someone who you didn’t have to hide your whole witchy side from. I mean—all those times I talked shit about witches, you never stopped me. You just took it. You could’ve found someone better… but you stayed with me. Why?” 

Cas doesn’t speak at first, opting instead to look down at the ground, making Dean wonder if he even heard his question. It’s only when Dean’s about to call his name that Cas finally talks. 

“I thought about it. But I decided that I’d rather have you in my life than to lose you by being myself.” Dean feels his throat tightening when Cas pauses. “I guess in hindsight, it was foolish to think I could hide that from you forever, but I suppose I was blinded by… my emotions. I believed that one day you would change your mind. After you nearly died… I hoped that maybe using my powers to save you might be the way. But at the end of the day, it was my choice.” 

Dean registers that he’s stopped walking and that Cas is now directly facing him. Dean can’t bring himself to look at Cas because he knows he’ll see that same face he saw that night he was bleeding out in a motel room, shirtless, with a panicked Cas begging him for him to stay. The bile rises in his stomach, and suddenly he feels suffocated by being so close to Cas. 

“I—uh—think we should split up,” he says absently. 

Cas seems surprised, concern filling his expression. “That’s a terrible idea, Dean. This thing could easily ambush either of us.” 

Dean’s already backing away from Cas, and Cas doesn’t move to follow. 

“It’s fine, Cas. We’ll cover more ground that way. ‘Sides, you know to holler if you find something.” 

Cas takes a deep breath and calmly nods. “Okay. Be careful, Dean.” 

Dean winks and salutes. “When am I not?” Cas half-smirks at that, but Dean’s turned around and wandering off in the opposite direction before he can say anything back. He’s walking quickly, not really looking for the shifter as much as trying to put as much distance as he can between himself and Cas right now. 

The shame and pain is overwhelming, but it’s nothing he’s not used to already. He’ll bounce back. All he needs is a minute to breathe and get himself together. 

After roughly ten minutes or so of wandering around, Cas is out of sight entirely. It’s eerily silent, there’s only the sounds of a few birds chirping and the soft sound of a creek nearby. But something feels off. There’s chill bumps crawling up his arm, but it’s not any colder here than it was before. 

Being a hunter, he’s learned to trust any gut feeling that he gets, and right now he feels like he’s being watched, which is why he rests his finger on the trigger, ready to pull at a moment’s notice, and tentatively creeps forward. The forest grows quieter, but the chill bumps don’t leave. His breathing is heavier and he can feel the adrenaline racing through his body. 

He considers calling out for Cas, but he decides against it, wondering if it will scare off whomever or whatever is watching him. 

“Alright you sonuvabitch, come on out,” he mutters. 

He turns at the sound of leaves crunching, inhaling sharply, trigger finger ready to shoot. As his light shines in the direction of the noise, he doesn’t find anything, but he’s no less tense. He scans the area cautiously, but nothing stands out. 

He hears another crunch behind him and he flips around again, his mind racing as he’s preparing to shoot now. He quickly stops himself when he sees Cas standing there. 

Dean lets his hands and arms go slack, and exhales tiredly before rolling his eyes. 

“Goddamnit, Cas. I could’ve pumped your dumb ass full of lead,” he curses. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas apologies.

“Whatever,” Dean says, but for some reason he can’t seem to take his finger off the trigger. Something in his mind won’t let him. “The hell are you doing here? I said we should split up.” 

Cas takes a step forward as Dean watches, surprised. “Because… we need to finish our conversation from before.” 

Dean swallows and suddenly he feels that rush of adrenaline return, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the conversation Cas wants to have or something else entirely. 

“The hell are you talking about, Cas?” 

Cas doesn’t stop walking towards him, so Dean takes a few steps back. “Dean… I know how you feel about me.” Dean raises an eyebrow. Something is off; there’s a reason those chills won’t go away. “I know that you still love me, Dean.” Dean takes another step back. “I can sense it. You’re ashamed about what you did to me— _ to us _ —but I don’t care about that.”

Dean slowly circles away from Cas, making no attempt to hide the confusion and distrust on his face. Cas notices and moves accordingly, trying to inch closer while always standing face-to-face with Dean. 

“Cas, whatever the hell you’re doing, you need to stop. We got shit to do.” 

“But, why?” Dean grips his gun tighter, nearly paralyzed with fear at the thought of shooting Cas, but he’s starting to accept that it might be a real possibility. “Dean, you and I are meant to be together. I can see inside your heart and I know you love me still. You just need to slip past that shame you’re feeling and give in.” 

The realization is sudden, and Dean moves before his brain can caution him not to. He shines his flashlight right into Cas’ face, and feels his heart stop when he sees it… the fleeting shift of blue eyes to a shining white that tells him that it’s not Cas standing in front of him. Cas—or the shifter—freezes. Its expression is empty now that its secret is exposed. 

“Oh, hell,” Dean mutters before quickly raising his gun and firing two rounds. He looks on in shock as the silver bullets pierce the torso of this fake-Cas, but do it no harm. The monster just maintains that blank expression and walks towards him, slowly and purposefully, while Dean backs away again. “Sonuvabitch.” 

He fires a few more rounds into the shifter, but it does no good forcing him to make a dash in the opposite direction. Memories of his last encounter with this monster flood his memory and he’s not sure just how far he’ll get, but he knows it’s death one way or the other. 

He runs, avoiding roots and debris as he can. His breathing gets harder. He thinks to call out for Cas, but the cold air makes his lungs ache and he has to save any breath he’s got for running. 

A huge weight abruptly slams into him from behind, knocking him to the ground and rolling down a small hill. What little bit of air he has left gets knocked out of him and he sputters trying to catch his breath, all while struggling violently to throw whatever is on top of him off. His effort is futile and he’s flipped around with surprising strength by the shifter now sitting on top of him. Sharp nails dig into the flesh of his chest. The pain is familiar. Not when he first came to town, but rather when werewolf claws had dug deep into his flesh and he was all but certain he would die. This is that werewolf moment all over again. The familiarity vanishes as the claws rake down his torso, ripping his skin with ease. Pain roars in his  ears ring so bad he’s not sure if he can hear himself scream. The pressure of the beast on top of him keeps him from breathing, feeling as though his ribs are going to crack from the pressure. He’s convinced this is where he’ll die. 

“Don’t worry, Dean. This will all be over soon,” the shifter purrs, using Cas’ voice in a mocking tone. The shifter rears back and Dean struggles through the pain to try and reach for his machete, but it’s useless. 

The shifter suddenly goes flying off of him and is pinned to a tree. He labors to sit up, but his body aches too much to even budge. There’s a thick fog in his brain and his vision is starting to blur.  

“Dean!” he hears Cas’ voice call out. He’s confident that this Cas is his, though, and he’s right as Cas crouches 

“Cas,” Dean sputters. 

“Can you move?” Cas questions immediately. He’s too weak to answer, much less move, but Dean still tries to plant his hands on the ground and push himself up. The pain is unbearable and he collapses back to the ground. 

“Dean!” 

Cas’ scream is familiar. In the heavy fog that’s settled into his brain, Dean remembers when Cas first rushed to him after the werewolf had nearly torn him to shreds. He coughs wetly, but feels a smile touch at the corner of his lips. Irony sure is a bitch.

“Your magic won’t hold me for long.” The voice that speaks is  _ Dean’s _ —but Dean knows he’s not the one speaking. He’s barely able to make out that the figure being pushed against the tree looks vaguely like him now. A piercing pain rips through his body and he coughs, feeling the metallic tang of blood fill his mouth. 

His body is colder now. He’s felt this once before. That feeling when you’re on the precipice of death. 

“Dean… Dean!” he hears Cas yell. 

“What will you do?” the shifter asks, still sounding just like Dean. “He’s dying. You can’t fight me  _ and _ save him.” Dean manages to look up at Cas and even he can see Cas is struggling to hold the shifter, his arms shaking. He just wants Cas to kill it. Even if it costs Dean his life. “The damage I’ve done will kill him. Either end me or let him die.”

“C…Cas. Kill it,” Dean croaks. His throat is hoarse now. He knows his time is coming, but he also knows that Cas can put an end to the murders by killing this thing here and now. 

There’s a standoff, silence falling between them as Dean waits for the shifter to die, and himself, as well. 

“Close your eyes, Dean,” Cas mutters. “ _ Pilah farzm, zvrza adna gono!”  _

Dean barely has a chance to do as Cas demands before a flash of brilliant, white light nearly blinds him, even with his fading vision. A strong gust of wind blows and Dean’s almost afraid he’ll be blown away with it. But just like that, the light fades. 

When Dean opens his eyes, he only sees Cas. The shifter is no longer pinned to the tree or anywhere to be seen. He’s still too weak to do much more than tilt his head and shift his eyes, but Dean doesn’t need to as Cas crouches next to him. He can only focus on how blue Cas’ eyes are, and not the panic-stricken look he’s got glued to Dean. 

“What’d you do to him?” Dean asks. 

“I sent it away. It won’t be gone for long, though,” Cas answers, talking fast like he does in those rare moments when he’s noticeably nervous. 

Dean coughs and can taste more blood in his mouth, but still he smiles. “Shoulda killed it.” The pain in his body is getting worse and he knows he’s only got a little bit of time left. 

“Dean,” Cas says wistfully. 

“Cas… I’m really fucking cold.” 

Dean’s not sure if he’s delirious, but he’s pretty sure he sees a tear fall down Cas’ face as he gives  a pitiful laugh at Dean’s joke. 

“Dean… just relax.” 

“Don’t think I’m goin’ anywhere, Cas.”  Cas nods, and Dean figures if he’s going to leave this world, at least he can die seeing Cas’ face one last time and speak his truth. He doesn’t care for the chick-flick stuff, but when you’re about to die who cares? “For what it’s worth. I’m real sorry, Cas. You… deserved better than an asshole like me, but I missed ya.”

“Dean, stop talking. You need to save your energy,” Cas answers, voice shaky. 

“Nah. I ain’t doing well, Cas. So, I… just wanted to say I fucking wanted you back every damn day. Life sucked without you. I fucked up, but—uh—I’m glad I got to see you one last time. Oh, and tell Sam I’m real sorry and not to beat himself up for what happened.”  

Cas looks like he’s choking back tears, but Dean doesn’t feel like he deserves them. He abandoned Cas for no reason. He doesn’t need the added guilt. 

“ _ Fetharsi od bliora, iaial ednas cicles _ .” 

Cas voice is soothing, and Dean feels light. Like he can close his eyes and drift off peacefully. He has no idea what Cas is doing to him, but he can see a faint glow on his hands. Dean’s so tired. He tries to fight his eyelids, but it’s getting harder. So, he makes his peace with the world silently. He wishes he could call Sam, tell him he’s sorry and that he loves him. He knows Cas will tell Sam for him, though. 

He closes his eyes, and prays that something better awaits him on the other side. 

______________________

Dean’s not sure what he expects when he opens his eyes. He remembers conversations with both Sam and Cas about what waits for them on the other side. It was rare that he ever thought about heaven or hell, but now he’ll finally know just which side of the coin he lands on. 

When he opens his eyes, though, he realizes that in the faint glow of candlelight looks a lot like… like Cas’ house. 

His body is sore as he breathes and he’s hit with a strong pain in his chest, right where that thing had raked its claws through his body. He hisses as he tries to move and looks down to see he’s shirtless, his chest a scarred mess. The pain gets worse as he comes to, and he finally realizes that he’s not in either heaven or hell. He’s sitting—or lying, in this case—somewhere in Cas’ home. 

“Don’t move,” he hears Cas voice command. 

Dean’s vision is still fuzzy, but he can make out Cas mixing something fervently in a bowl. Suddenly, Dean’s nostrils are bombarded with the strong scent of something earthy, but sweet. 

“Cas? Where the hell am I?” Dean asks. In a sudden moment of panic, he remembers what they were doing before. “Where’s the shifter? Did you kill it?” 

“You’re in my house, and no. I didn’t kill it. Just sent it away.” Cas reply is terse, and he goes back to mixing whatever is in the bowl. 

“I thought I was dead.” 

Cas looks up at him, and in the flickering candlelight Dean sees a flicker of pain and fear in his eyes. Dean can see he’s exhausted, beads of sweat line his forehead and his shirt is drenched. He looks almost ill. Cas says nothing and returns to the bowl for another minute before he stops and sets the concoction down. 

“Cas… you gotta talk to me,” Dean pleads. 

Cas is silent again, instead dipping his hands into the bowl and coating them in the pungent mixture. “This won’t feel pleasant at first, but just try to sit still,” he instructs. 

Dean hardly has a chance to reply before Cas presses his glop-covered hands onto the deep, red claw marks that scale up his body. The feeling is pure intensity, a burst of burning heat followed by a chill that makes him shiver to his core, as though he has frostbite. He bites his lips so hard he’s afraid he’ll bust it open, but before long he’s gasping for air and breathing hard. 

“Shit! Sonuvabitch!” Dean curses as his fingers curl, trying to grab something he can squeeze the life out of, to no avail. 

“I’m sorry. It’ll only last a minute.” A minute feels like an eternity as Cas spreads the earthy-smelling concoction across Dean’s entire body. The sting is almost too much to bear. But suddenly Dean is distracted by another faint glow coming from Cas’ arms. Soft purple light crawls up his arm in intricate patterns that Dean realizes are runes drawn onto his skin. 

“ _ Baltim micma bialo.”  _ The light flows from the runes on Cas’ arms and into Dean, seeping into his body. The feeling is electrifying, and Dean feels oddly like his body is on fire, but somehow not burning. “ _ Iad isro tox.”  _ The sting returns, and Dean hisses, but he watches as the glow outlines the deep gashes in his torso and suddenly he feels his skin prickle as it begins repairing itself. _ “Zirdo noco, hoath iaida!”  _

With the last of the incantation done, Dean groans loudly while the magic of Cas’ spell continues to repair the damage done to him, weaving and stitching his skin back to normal. His chest heaves as the wounds close, but just as quickly as the spell begins, the feeling dissipates. Dean lies still for a moment, almost afraid to look at what’s happened, but after a deep breath he peers down to see the gashes are gone. 

His enjoyment is short-lived as Cas collapses, barely holding himself up with shaky arms. Dean’s reaction is immediate, and he quickly rises to catch Cas, who is breathing harder now. Sweat is falling down his brow, forming a puddle on the floor. 

“Cas!” Dean shouts. 

“I’m… fine,” Cas assures him between pants. Even though the candlelight is faint, Dean can tell Cas is anything but fine right now. 

“Like hell you are,” Dean challenges. He helps Cas up, but all he can manage is to get Cas upright before Cas slumps into him, letting his head rest on Dean’s shoulder and his hands splay on Dean’s bare chest. “What the hell was that?” 

“It was a spell… a very taxing one.” 

“What kind of spell?” Dean waits for Cas to answer, but all he gets from Cas is panting. “Cas! What kind of spell did you use?” 

“It was just a healing spell, Dean,” Cas mutters. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sit down for a moment.” Feeling rejuvenated, Dean slowly stands, pulling Cas up with him. Though he still seems weak, Cas manages to support himself, and it doesn’t deter Dean from keeping his arm around Cas, just to make sure.

“C’mon. You need to lie down,” Dean instructs. 

Cas, surprisingly, doesn’t protest and lets Dean lead him back into Cas’ bedroom. After he lowers Cas down on his bed, Cas takes in a deep breath and waves his hand, extinguishing the  candles in the living room. 

“Hey… no more magic,” Dean admonishes, seeing the immediate toll it takes on Cas by the his sharp inhale of breath. 

“Dean, I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not, goddamnit. Look, whatever you did patched me up, but you look like you just went three rounds with death and got your ass kicked.” 

Cas snickers at that, and after everything that’s happened, Dean’s glad to see something of a smile. His memory is still hazy on what exactly happened, but he remembers hearing Cas beg for him to be alright. If he can get a laugh right now, he’ll take it. 

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks after a moment. 

Strangely, he feels amazing. The magic, or whatever it was, that Cas sent flowing through his body had drained away all the pain. He feels light, and not at all like a hunter who was one step away from death. 

“Great. I guess. Don’t know what the hell you did, but it worked like a charm,” Dean answers. 

Cas turns to him, eyes glossy and swirling with questions, before nodding, seemingly content with his answer. “That’s good to hear.” 

Dean can tell Cas wants to say something else, but they just sit on the bed in silence. Dean doesn’t know what to say, but being so close to Cas, there’s an electricity between them that reminds him of that spark he felt when he first met Cas on a hunt. 

“Did you mean it?” 

The sudden question catches Dean off-guard, and he swallows. He vaguely remembers that he said some things before what he thought was his impending death. But now that he’s very much alive, he’s not exactly ecstatic about having to confront what he said. 

“Mean what?”

Cas pins him with a sharp, but still unreadable, glance. “Everything, Dean. All of it. That you missed me. That you’re sorry. That you want me back.” 

The knot in his throat gets larger, but Dean knows he can’t deny it. All the time he’s been here in Newport has led to this moment. 

“Yeah, Cas. S’all true. Everyday I, uh, kicked my ass pretty hard for leaving you. Damn near drank myself to death on Sam’s couch afterwards. But, now... being here, it’s been hell. Seeing you happy and that you moved on sucks… but I’m just glad you’re—” He’s abruptly cut off when Cas wraps an arm around Dean’s neck and pulls their lips together in a kiss. 

He’s tense at first, but after a moment he relaxes into the kiss, letting Cas’ tongue snake its way inside his mouth in a way Dean never thought he’d experience again. Dean lets a hand rest on Cas’ cheek while Cas covers that hand with his own. It feels like an eternity during the kiss, but Dean eventually parts their lips just enough that he can breathe and let his brain decode just what the hell is happening. 

“Cas,” he breathes. 

“Dean… I… missed you, too.” 

For some reason that’s all Cas needs to say before Dean brings their lips back together, nibbling on Cas’ bottom lip while Cas continues tasting Dean with his tongue, reacquainting himself with the taste of Dean. 

Dean’s impatient. He knows that tomorrow there will be more conversation, about the monster, about him, about  _ this.  _ So, he doesn’t want to wait. He wants to experience it all now and quickly. 

He pulls away from Cas and helps Cas lift his shirt over his head and toss it on the floor. A second later, he pounces on Cas, pushing Cas down on the bed and pinning his arms above his head before straddling him and chasing Cas’ mouth with his. Cas is pliant beneath him, either from exhaustion or willingness to submit to Dean in this moment, but Dean anticipates the coming fire that will light inside Cas. 

Dean lets his body rut against Cas’ as he devours Cas mouth. Cas squirms beneath him, moaning into Dean’s mouth as he chases Dean’s tongue with his own. Dean can feel how anxious Cas is for this. Cas wasn’t one to wait around for foreplay, instead antsy with anticipation to fuck him or be fucked. This time is no different.  

As Dean rocks back, he feels Cas hard in his pants and he knows that he wants Cas in him. He’s waited too damn long for this.  

“Fuck, Cas… I want you. You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” Dean whispers, his lips barely touching Cas’. 

Cas just smirks, suddenly amused. 

“Two years is a long time, Dean. That’s why I want to make this last. I want this to make up for all the lost time.” Cas voice is raspier now than moments ago, and it sends even more blood flowing down to his dick. His jeans are constricting and he aches to throw him off. The moment he takes his mind off Cas, he’s flipped over on his back with Cas straddling him. 

Classic Cas. 

“I’m going to take my time with you, Dean,” Cas mutters. 

Dean smirks and laughs. “Oh yeah? Show me.” 

Cas does just that, crashing his lips against Dean’s so hard, Dean’s not sure his lips aren’t busted from it. But it feels so good having Cas’ lips on his. Cas changes it up though, kissing and sucking at Dean’s neck while Dean groans wantonly while letting his hands claw at Cas’ back. 

“Good boy,” Cas purrs. “Make those sounds for me, Dean. I’ve missed them… so much.” Cas slowly maneuvers down his torso, kissing down his neck. He plants his lips right over Dean’s anti-possession tattoo and kisses it gently a few times, and for a moment, Dean feels like Cas is worshipping him. It’s intimate and so much more than he deserves. Cas eventually continues down, though, alternating light flicks of his tongue against each of Dean’s nipples. Dean shivers. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean moans, earning him an amused hum as Cas sucks and nibbles on a nipple, sending a spark straight to his cock. Dean knows Cas is enjoying this, seeing Dean lose control. He can see it in the barely hidden smirk Cas has, even with his lips suckling on nipples slick with saliva. Each moan makes Cas lick and suck more.

Dean grasps at Cas’ hair, messing it up even more than its usual disheveled state, and it has Dean even harder, seeing Cas look so sexed out. He can feel a wet spot in his boxers from how hard and leaking Cas already has him, just from his looks and mouth alone. 

“Jesus, Cas. I gotta get these off,” he says with a laugh, making a small motion to his jeans. 

Cas pauses and smiles, as though he’s truly considering Dean’s request. “Okay.” 

Dean reaches for his zipper, but Cas swats his hand away. Instead, Cas reaches down and undoes Dean’s zipper and belt himself, and Dean lets out a sigh of relief when the pressure of his cock trying to break free of the tight confines disappears. Dean arches up off the bed to pull his jeans off, but Cas hooks his fingers under the elastic band of Dean’s boxers and pulls them down, too. His cock springs free, standing at full attention against Cas, who looks down hungrily. 

“Gorgeous,” Cas comments, amused. 

“You gonna join the party?” 

“In due time, Dean.” 

Cas, without warning, grips the base of Dean’s cock and gives it a firm tug that has Dean shivering. Beads of precome become lube as Cas strokes him again, finding a slow, steady rhythm. Dean’s helpless to do anything and simply rides the pleasure out as best he can.  

“C’mon, Cas. ’S’gonna be daylight before we fuck,” Dean whines. 

Cas quirks an eyebrow, and the sight alone sends a shiver of anticipation down his body. 

“So desperate to fuck, aren’t you?” 

Dean licks his lips and nods. “Been wanting that for a long fucking time.” 

“We’ll get there, eventually.” Dean shudders. 

Cas dismounts him, and sinks to his knees at the foot of the bed. Dean lies back, feeling empty without Cas’ weight on top of him, Cas’ hands on him, but the feeling doesn’t last long once he feels the first lick up the length of his cock. 

“Oh… sh—shit,” he pants. 

A shock goes straight to his balls’ balls as Cas curiously licks up and down his length a few more times. His tongue targets every bulging vein on Dean’s dick, occasionally looking up at Dean when he knows Dean’s looking down at him. Dean grips his blanket, trying— _ and failing— _ to keep himself in control, and he knows he’s doomed. Cas’ entire existence destroys every guard he has up. He nearly comes when Cas laps at a drop of precome that falls down the length of his cock, spreading the drop across his lips before grinning.

“You taste amazing, Dean,” Cas praises. 

Dean always said he hates witches and their disgusting fascination with bodily fluids, but he thinks he can make an exception this time. 

Cas wraps his lips around the head of his cock and sucks lightly, before taking the majority of Dean’s cock into his mouth.

“Fuck, Cas, so fucking good,” Dean compliments, his voice strained as Cas’ tongue licks all the right places. Cas manages a laugh around Dean’s cock, sending a vibration up Dean’s body. Cas pulls off him and lets tongue lap at the small droplets of precome leaking from Dean’s cock-head. 

Dean feels that familiar sensation in his balls and he curses silently, desperately not wanting to come. Not before Cas gets naked and fucks him.

“C’mon, Cas. Stop fucking around,” Dean growls impatiently, even though he knows he’s smiling. 

Cas indulges him and Dean watches as Cas discards his clothes, one piece at a time, until he’s nude in the glowing moonlight. There’s a new tattoo on his lower abdomen, symbols that look only vaguely familiar to Dean. 

“Enochian,” Cas says, bringing bringing Dean’s attention from his lower abdomen up to blue eyes that look down at him in amusement. 

“You mean that angel language?” 

Cas nods before crawling onto the bed, slotting himself in the space between Dean’s legs that open up for him on autopilot—like they’d never forgotten how this whole thing works.

“It’s a prayer of protection. Enochian is my preferred language for magic. There’s a hidden power in it that most witches don’t understand. It can do many things.” Lust fills Cas’ eyes now, and Dean swallows down the sacrilegious joke that’s on the tip of his tongue, opting instead for silence and drinking in Cas’ gaze. 

Cas straddles Dean and smirks before holding his hand out. “For example— _ Piadph. _ ” 

A bottle of what looks like lube and a condom appear in the palm of Cas’ hand, which he quickly opens up before coating his fingers in it. The scent of artificial cherry hits Dean’s nostrils; Cas’ favorite flavor. 

“What’d I say about no magic?” Dean playfully chides. Cas ignores him, though, and Dean’s glad he does, as Cas slowly sinks the first finger into his own ass, biting his lip to stifle the moan that nearly escapes. “Holy shit, Cas.” 

Cas keeps going, and Dean just watches, not minding the drops of lube that fall down on him. Instead, he only cares about Cas as he pushes in another finger, slowly pumping the two digits in and out of himself, letting his mouth open wide as he groans and pants while he stretches himself open. 

“Feels so good, Dean,” Cas whines, leaning back as if to get his fingers in even deeper. Cas’ cock stands fully erect, with a bead of precome ready to drop down at any moment. Dean can’t control himself and moves to sit up and lap at it, but even in his pleasured state, Cas manages to push him back down. “Not yet,” Cas mutters, voice barely above a whisper as he whimpers. Dean watches as Cas adds a third finger into his lube-slick hole. 

“Cas… please. I can’t take it anymore,” Dean groans, and it’s true. He’s about a minute away from coming untouched, and that’s not how he wants this reunion sex to go. 

Cas resolves that problem for him by ripping open the condom wrapper and gripping the base of Dean’s cock tightly, staving off his urge to come. He teases Dean with a few strokes as he slides the condom on, though in this moment Dean would’ve been fine without one. 

Cas continues to tease him, letting his slick hole grind against Dean’s cock while Dean’s throat grows dry with anticipation.

Cas sighs and moans as he teases Dean’s cock against his hole, and Dean shudders as Cas nearly lets the head of Dean’s cock sink inside him, only to pull away for a minute. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean grumbles. 

That seems to do it and slowly Dean feels Cas’ slick hole engulf his cock: a warm, familiar heat enveloping him as Cas slowly sinks down until Dean’s bottomed out inside him. 

“Yes… yes,” Cas mumbles as he slowly gyrates his hips, as if to somehow get Dean deeper inside him. 

Dean wets his lips as he watches Cas slowly pull himself off Dean’s cock before sinking back down on it again, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight—Cas fully naked, head thrown back as pleasure seems to course through him, and his cock red and swollen as it leaks pre-come on Dean’s chest. 

Cas leans down, bringing their faces only a couple of inches apart, one hand covering Dean’s tattoo, as he finds a slow rhythm of impaling himself on Dean. Dean gives a few aborted thrusts, but Cas does all the work.  

“Fuck. You see what you’re doin’ to me, Cas?” Dean whispers, lips all but touching Cas’. 

Cas answers him with a whine before closing the gap and taking Dean’s lips in his own in a brutal, crushing kiss. Dean clenches his eyes shut for a moment but quickly opens them to see Cas’ blue eyes glossy with lust as he continues to ride Dean. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Dean pants. Some part of him wants to tell Cas he loves him, but he’s not ready to open that can of worms again.

Cas stops for a moment, Dean’s cock fully sheathed inside him, and rocks silently. Dean knows what Cas wants and sits up on the bed. He guides Cas further up, until his cock is practically flush against Dean’s chest, bringing them so close that Dean can feel the heat radiating off Cas’ body. Cas hooks an arm around Dean’s neck and wordlessly begins to move again, rocking back and forth on Dean’s cock. 

“Harder,” Cas demands. 

Dean obliges and tightly grips Cas’ hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh of his thighs, and uses the rest of his strength to slide Cas up off his cock before slamming him back down, sometimes thrusting up to get in at an even better, deeper angle. Cas whines and sobs, and Dean can feel sweat and pre-come coat his chest. 

“Dean… Dean,” Cas pants as he moves without Dean’s assistance. 

Dean leans forward and kisses at the exposed skin on Cas’ neck while wrapping a hand smeared in sweat and pre-come around Cas’ cock. He strokes and squeezes while Cas moves erratically, the pleasure seeming to overwhelm Cas as he throws his body wildly around. 

It’s only a few moments before Cas groans and comes between him and Dean, hot and wet semen coating both their stomachs. Cas clenches around him and Dean bites his lip hard as the tight heat of Cas’ ass milks him while Cas fucks himself through his orgasm. 

Dean reaches his own climax right after, erratically thrusting into Cas and drawing wrecked and desperate moans from Cas, who quivers from the continued stimulation. They move slow and lazily like that for a few minutes until they just stop, the room silent except for the sound of their breathing. Dean sighs before falling back onto the bed with a contented sigh and grin. He struggles to keep his eyes open, feeling like Cas literally sucked the energy of him with his ass, but he manages long enough to see Cas pull himself off Dean’s cock and joins Dean, lying right by his side. 

Dean’s unashamed of how quickly he moves to fit himself and Cas together, unconcerned by the sticky mess that covers both of their chests or the condom still hanging off his softening cock. 

Cas takes Dean’s hand and laces their fingers together in a move that’s so familiar to Dean, but it leaves him uncomfortable. This still feels undeserved to him—like he’s not really allowed to have this. But, Cas just quietly lays down and stares up at him and Dean feels something inside—maybe his heart—flutter. 

“Cas?” Dean asks. 

Cas hums and closes his eyes, but Dean can see the contented smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Stop thinking, Dean,” he mutters, voice gravely and soft with sleep. Dean turns to Cas and huffs but Cas shushes him. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” 

It’s obvious Cas learned a thing or two from him, at least. If there’s one thing Dean knows he’s good at, it’s putting of emotions until the last possible moment. And they have a lot to unpack: whatever that shapeshifter was, nearly dying, and now him and Cas being in this weird place where it’s almost like before, but with a giant elephant still in the room. It’d be enough to break some, but Dean just compartmentalizes it like everything else.  

He closes his eyes and moves in closer to Cas, letting their laced hands fall between them, content to deal with whatever come of this tomorrow. 

“Yeah. G’night, Cas.”


	10. Chapter 10

When Dean wakes up, he doesn’t feel a warm figure cozied up behind him. He sits up,  throwing the blanket off his naked chest and shivering just a bit. Cas is nowhere to be seen as Dean looks around the bedroom.

The scent of coffee wafts in, filling his nostrils with the earthy aroma. Dean knows Cas must have gotten up early to brew it, but he’s content to sit back for a moment and reflect on last night. It’s the first time he’s had sex and not been left feeling empty since… since he broke it off with Cas two years ago.

He and Cas belong together. He knows that more now than ever. Last night, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and now he feels lighter. Today, even though he’s almost died twice now, he knows together they can stop this thing.

He stretches and finally gets out of bed, quickly scooping up his boxers and t-shirt to throw on before walking out to see Cas, wearing an oversized sweater and boxers, sitting at a little table in the corner by the window. There’s an old-looking book laid out in front of him that he’s engrossed in before looking up at Dean.

“Mornin’,” Dean greets.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas welcomes. From underneath the table Dean sees that same black cat crawl out to pin Dean with a stare. Dean scowls at the cat, who purrs at him before returning to Cas and jumping in his lap. Cas scratches its ears before looking to Dean. “There’s coffee in the pot.”

“Thanks. Smells pretty good. Didn’t think you knew how to make coffee,” Dean says as he makes his way to the kitchen counter where an empty mug rests next to the coffee machine.

“I had time to learn, due to the lack of free motel coffee these last couple of years,” Cas says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Even though it’s another reminder of Cas life without Dean, it doesn’t make Dean’s chest constrict with guilt like before.

Dean grabs his mug and takes a sip as he sits opposite Cas, who’s still reading that book. The coffee wakes him up and tastes surprisingly good—not that he had any expectations one way or another—and his attention is drawn to the book. He watches as Cas scans the page before turning it to a full-length drawing of some bluish monster.

It finally dawns on him that Cas is reading a bestiary, and an old one at that.

“What are you looking at?” Dean finally asks, setting his mug down on the table.

“It’s an old grimoire my mother gave me. It’s apparently been in our family for a while now. I figured I could find our mysterious shapeshifter, or in this case our not-shapeshifter, in here somewhere.” Dean raises an eyebrow and Cas sighs and turns the book towards Dean. “I’m sure you’ve figured out that the thing we’re dealing with isn’t a typical shapeshifter.”

“Wasn’t so sure the first time. I figured I just saw a shifter—well—unshifted. After last night, I don’t know what the hell we’re dealing with.”

“Take a look,” Cas instructs.

Dean looks down at the picture of the blue monster Cas had turned to before looking at the name beside it. It’s eerily human-shaped, like a demon or a djinn, and even the cartoonish drawing of it conveys a sinister feel.  He’d spend more time critiquing its appearance, but his attention is drawn to the thing it’s holding in its hand—a thing that looks very much like a heart.

“A… Qareen? The hell is that?”

“According to the grimoire, it’s a shapeshifter that takes the form of a person’s deepest desire in order to seduce and then kill them.”

Dean takes another sip of coffee as he reads the bestiary’s description of the Qareen. “So, you’re telling me this thing turns into whatever someone’s lusting after… just to kill them?” Dean makes a face, but shrugs after a moment of thought. “Guess that explains why it’s crushing a heart in the picture.” Dean kicks back and finishes his cup of coffee. “So, the hell does this thing want and how do we kill it?”

Cas sighs. “The grimoire says that, alone, the Qareen just desires to corrupt and kill indiscriminately. But, it can be controlled by someone, a master of sorts, who  _ takes the Qareen’s heart _ . If it’s being controlled by someone, conveniently, the only way to kill a Qareen is to stab its heart.”  

“Not to doubt your spell book, Cas, but I shot that thing in the heart several times and it didn’t go down. Even after multiple bullets, right in the chest, the damn thing kept going.” Dean examines the picture again and focuses on the giant, gaping hole in its chest. “Guess that explains the giant hole where its heart is.”

Cas examines the book more closely, and Dean waits for him to translate the text, since it’s written in an alphabet Dean’s never seen before. “It only says that the person who  _ holds the Qareen’s heart _ controls it. If you couldn’t kill it by shooting its heart, then that must mean someone is controlling it and has its heart.”

Dean throws his head back and scoffs. “Great, so we’ve got a deranged shapeshifter wreaking havoc on the town, and now we know it’s being controlled by someone just as deranged,” Dean says as he gets up to get another cup of coffee. “Someone must really have it out for everyone here… and me, since that thing can’t seem to get enough of me.”

Cas pauses, and Dean doesn’t miss the fleeting, grave look in his eyes. “Yes, well, either way we should decide how to find its heart and kill it.”

“Can’t you do a spell? Like a locator or tracking spell to find it?”

Cas shakes his head, looking a little disappointed. “I would need to have an idea of what I’m looking for. Even with the picture of the Qareen, its heart could look vastly different.” Cas sighs in that way that lets Dean know he’s not going to like what Cas says next. “Our only hope to find the heart is to find whoever controls the Qareen.”

“So, in other words—we’re up shit’s creek without a paddle, huh?”

Cas snickers but does answer, instead settling for drinking his coffee while re-reading the same page of the bestiary. There’s an obvious question lingering in the air. Dean’s not surprised Cas hasn’t addressed it, but now it feels almost awkward not to talk about what’s happened between them.

“So… are we gonna talk about last night?” Dean asks.

Cas looks down at Bee and scratches his head, but Dean can see it. There’s something brewing in Cas’ expression. Maybe fear, or something worse—like regret.

Finally, Cas meets Dean’s gaze and his lips are pulled into a taut line.

“Dean… last night was a mistake.”  

Dean feels dizzy and light, like his soul just left his body. He’s faced rejection plenty of times, but something about this—about Cas rejecting him—feels like a stab to the heart. A myriad of emotions start to swirl through him: anger, confusion, regret. He’s not sure how to react or what to say.

“Dean… you and I both know this thing between us was a mistake. When this is all over, you’ll leave again and things will go back to the way they were.”

“No,” Dean mutters defiantly. “Goddamnit! You can’t tell me last night was a mistake, Cas.”  

That gets Cas righteously angry, his brow furrowing and that taut line of his lips turning into a full-blown scowl. Bee curiously looks between the two of them before jumping out of Cas’ lap as if it can sense what’s coming. Being the black cat of a witch, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Bee knows exactly what’s going on.

“I can, and I am. Last night was poor judgment on my part. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have let you get so close.”

“But you did,” Dean barks. “Look, I know I fucked up big-time, Cas, but I thought we were getting past it.”

“Get past it, Dean?” Cas’ tone is venomous, full of sudden anger that seems to come out of nowhere. Cas’ face is fixed in a scowl and it drudges up the memories Dean was so happy to try and forget. “Do you know how long I sat in that room hoping that it was just a dream?” Dean feels his jaw clench tight as he tries to keep his expression even. “I had no one, Dean. When you found me in that town four years ago, I was lost. My mother was gone, I had no coven to turn to. And then I found you, and I thought… I thought I had a purpose again. To keep you safe… to love you.” 

The question is unexpected and Dean grips his mug a little tighter now—hard enough that he worries he could crack it with even a bit more pressure. Cas turns around so Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the high Dean is feeling this morning is now completely gone.

“Dammit, Cas. I thought we were going to talk about this.” Cas doesn’t reply and Dean storms back to the the table, dropping into his seat more aggressively than he should. Cas looks away, but Dean can see there’s confusion written all over his expression. “Tell me what the hell was last night about, then.”

There is another lump that forms in Dean’s throat, thicker and harder to swallow down this time as he rubs his face and turns away from Cas. 

“Cas, I—”

“You called me a monster, Dean. You doubted that I loved you or would do anything for you just because I practiced witchcraft. You left me broken and alone because of your prejudice.”

The accusation is unsuspecting and harsher than any that Cas has levied against him before. Dean feels himself gripping his mug a little tighter now—hard enough that he worries he could crack it with even a bit more pressure. Cas turns around so Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the high Dean is feeling this morning is effectively gone, and in it’s place a void of regret and agitation.

“Cas, I can’t say I’m sorry anymore than I already have. I screwed up, alright? I’m an asshole and I don’t deserve you.” Cas doesn’t reply and Dean takes the initiative to storm back to the the table, dropping into his seat more aggressively than he should. Cas looks away, but Dean can see there’s confusion written all over his expression. “But if you still feel this way about me. If you still think I’m that same sonuvabitch, then what the hell was last night about then?”

Cas can’t look him in his face, instead opting again to turn away to hide the answer that lies in his eyes. If there’s one thing Dean will always be able to do, it’s tell the truth in the way Cas looks at him.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean chuckles purely out of amusement at the reality of what’s happening. “So that’s it, huh? We just act like last night ever happened then?” 

“It’s for the best, Dean.”

“For the best my ass, Cas!” Dean shouts. The edges of his vision tinge with red. He can feel his heart beating hard and fast, now. A million and one thoughts go running through his mind, each one centered around last night. Each one angering him more. Until it finally dawns on him.

He swallows and looks up at Cas, eyes clear and wide. “That thing looked like you when it confronted me.” Cas takes a deep breath and finally looks up at Dean. The memory is still fuzzy as he tries to recall it completely, but he remembers enough. Before he lost consciousness that thing it looked and sounded just like him. “When that thing saw you… it sounded just like me.”

“Dean,” Cas says in warning.

“No… Cas. I know exactly what you’re doing. If that thing takes the shape of someone’s deepest desire, then that means you’re mine and I’m… yours.”

Cas takes a sharp inhale of breath and looks around hurriedly for something, but Dean knows he’s cornered. He’s shit at communicating his feelings, but Cas is right there behind him.

“Cas, look at me!” Dean demands, and strangely, Cas complies, turning to him with a blank expression. “Look me in my face and tell me the truth? That thing changed into me when it saw you, didn’t it?”

Cas shies away from Dean and sighs. “Yes.”

That takes the fight out of Dean and he falls back into his seat, his body feeling loose and weak. His brain struggles to process the fact that after all these years, he’s Cas’ deepest desire. Cas just stares at him blankly as if not comprehending the severity of what the truth means. Moments pass in silence as the weight of the revelation hangs between them.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I just… can’t do this again.”

“Why?” Dean questions, sitting up his seat immediately. “You can’t tell me last night didn’t mean something, Cas. Okay, after everyone, after Daphne, after April, hell even after that asshole Bartholomew, who’s still freaking obsessed with you—” Dean doesn’t miss Cas’ eyes go wide the second he mentions Bartholomew. If he wasn’t so determined and angry right now he’d ask about it. “You and I still found our way back to each other. You gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, Cas.”

“Why? So you can leave me again?” Cas barks out. There’s a righteous fury burning in Cas’ eyes and Dean feels Cas’ glare burn holes through him. Dean simply swallows, his mouth hanging open just slightly. “You left me, Dean. I was lost for days, hoping that you’d take me back. Now you expect me to believe that I should just change my mind because a so-called monster makes you believe that I still love you?” Cas pauses, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath before letting it out. His expression is calm again, and for a moment but there’s still anger and pain there.

The lump in Dean’s throat is a stone now, heavy and lodged as he reminds himself to breathe. “Cas… look. I’m sorry for everything. I messed up. I know it.”

“We need to figure out where this thing is, and after that we’ll finish this conversation.”

“The lump in Dean’s throat is a stone now, heavy and lodged as he reminds himself to breathe. “Cas… look. I’m sorry for everything. But I’m trying to show you that I ain’t the same guy anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter, Dean,” Cas answers. His voice is quiet. There’s that familiar cloudiness in Cas’ eyes. Cas doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. The conversation is over. “We need to focus on our task at hand. We need to find out where this thing is, and after that we’ll finish this conversation.”

In similar fashion though, Dean ignores the clear signs not to do something, and pushes anyways. “Tell me the truth, Cas. Do you trust me?”

The question clearly catches Cas off guard, his entire body tense all of a sudden like he’s ready to fight for his life. .

“Dean…” Cas says like he wants to stop him.

“Just tell me the truth, Cas. Do you trust that I wouldn’t hurt you again?”

Cas swallows but stays silent nor moves. Dean sees the answer in Cas’ eyes though. They’re apologetic, but unwavering. “Dean, let’s just finish this.” 

Dean shakes his head, but now he now he finally gets it. “Look, Cas. I get it. You don’t trust me, and I—uh—deserve that. For what I did to you, there’s no defending that. But, if there’s no trust, I can’t put you in harm’s way.” 

“Dean, what are you—” 

Dean stands up from the table and Cas stops. He walks back into his bedroom faster now and scrambles to put on his clothes that are scattered on the floor before walking out towards the front door, thinking just long enough to grab the keys to the Impala on his way out.

“Where are you going?” Cas asks, sounding concerned.

“Look, you made it clear, Cas. You and me, it’s not gonna be a thing.” Cas doesn’t say anything to that, he just watches on with some indefinable expression. “Look, I brought you into this case, so I’m giving you space while I figure this out.”

“Dean, wait!” 

Dean doesn’t listen to Cas, instead, escaping outside the shutting the door behind him. He moves on autopilot as he hops into the Impala, freezing only when he sees the blood staining the passenger seat. His blood. He tries to block out the memories of Cas dragging his near lifeless body back to the Impala two years ago. He tries to block out the fact that two years later, he’s walking out on Cas again.

He cranks the Impala and drives off, to where, he’s still not sure. 

_____________________

Much to his disappointment, the farthest Dean gets is a shoddy fast-food joint a few miles out of town. The upside is, he’s managed to kill an hour of time. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been asleep until he walked inside and the lunch menu was already on. It’s probably the first time in two years he’s slept over four hours.

Part of him aches to get out of Newport—just disappear like he never came and some way, somehow pretend like he’d never found Cas again. But the dutiful part of him knows he can’t leave a case open. That beast is out there, and it’ll kill again. He’s got enough guilt on his conscience already.

What he does with Cas is the biggest question. One he doesn’t want to think about.

He pops the last couple of fries in his mouth and swallows them down with the last of his root beer before getting up to toss his trash. When he walks outside, he leans against the building before checking his phone. He’s amazed the charge held through the night, or that it’s even working. He remembers hitting the ground pretty hard and there’s not even a scratch on the screen.

He mindlessly pops off a quick text to Sam to see if he’s free and waits. He’d lost track of what day it is, but the weekend brunch crowd clued him in that it’s Saturday, which means Sam’s probably studying and free to talk.

It only takes a few minutes before his phone rings and he sees Sam’s caller ID pop up.

“Sammy,” Dean greets. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. Actually taking the day off and watching TV for the first time in probably a month,” Sam replies.

“You taking the day off? Who are you and what did you do with my brother?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam bites back, but Dean can envision the affectionate smile on his face.

“Bitch.”

Dean feels a sense of nostalgia, thinking back to the days when Sam was hunting with him. They’d be in a place like this, eating a late breakfast or lunch while researching their latest case. And those those are memories of the past, he really wishes he had Sam with him right now. He shoves the memories away, afraid he'll accidentally let slip what he’s doing and who he’s with and worry Sam. As lonely as it is without him, he doesn’t want to be the one to pull Sam back into the life, either.

“So, how’s the case going? You’re in Newport?” Sam asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Uh—yeah—Maine. And the case is going alright. Think it’s a shifter. We’re pretty close to catching the sonuvabitch.” He lies again. He knows Sam too well. If he mentions a Qareen, Sam will do his own research and end up trying to find him in Newport. So he leaves out the Qareen and the near death experiences. The last thing he needs is Sam worrying even more than he already does.  

“So what’s Newport like?”

“It’s alright. Quiet town. Cold, rainy, lotsa trees changing color and stuff. Haven’t had a chance to get an authentic lobster roll yet,” Dean laughs.

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Dean,” Sam dead-pans.

“I know. I’m hilarious,” Dean quips, smirking as though Sam is standing right in front of him. It makes him miss his brother even more, though, he’ll never admit that to Sam’s face.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

“Peachy,” Dean quips, probably a little too quickly.

“Alright… you just—I don’t know—sound different.”

God he hates that he can’t hide anything from Sam even when they’re over a thousand miles apart.

“Just tired. Been tracking this damn shifter for awhile. That’s all.”

Sam sighs on the other end. “You don’t need any help with the case or anything, do you?”

Dean has no doubt that if Sam feels that Dean’s in over his head he’ll drop everything and drive up in a heartbeat. Dean counts himself lucky there’s no national headlines about what’s going on in Newport, otherwise Sam would’ve been up here before he could even say no.

“I got it handled, Sammy,” he lies.

There’s another brief silence and Dean wonders if Sam isn't even trying to hide the fact that he’s looking up Newport and any strange occurrences in the area. “You sure, Dean?”

“Don’t worry about it. You keep your nose in the books and I’ll handle the hunting.”

“Dean—”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Dean interrupts. Sam is silent and Dean feels another prick of guilt poke at him. “Look, Sam. You got out, alright? And I sure as hell ain’t gonna be the one responsible for dragging you back in.”

There’s finality to his words and he knows it. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too much like their dad—no room for arguments—just do what he says. He doesn’t hold it against Sam that he chose to give up hunting for something simpler like finishing college and going to law school. Hell, he’s always wanted something better for him. Doesn’t change the fact that not having him along on hunts is pretty fucking lonely. He has—or had—a chance to maybe have Cas back in his life—hunting or not—but now he knows that’s just a pipe dream, too.

“Alright, Dean. I get it,” Sam says. He doesn’t sound defeated, but tired. The fight’s changed, but in some ways, it’s still the same. Sam knows he can’t convince him to quit hunting, so he settles for hoping that Dean will ask him back to hunt, but Dean never will. “Just know, if you need me, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Ain’t no mountain high enough and all that jazz, right?” Finally, Sam makes a noise of amusement and he figures now is a good time to end the call. “Anyways, I—uh—got a long day ahead, so I’ll check in with you later.”  

“Yeah, sounds good, Dean. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’ll see ya, Sammy.”

The call ends just like that, and while Dean feels a bit better than he did ten minutes ago, that isn’t saying much. Still, he’s got to face the fact that a Qareen is running around still and probably wants to rip his heart out and Cas is… well, still Cas. Then Benny pops into his mind, and he figures the best way to distract himself from Cas is to catch Benny up on what’s happened since they last spoke.

He dials Benny’s number but it goes to voicemail after a few rings. It’s only slightly concerning—Benny’s busy with everything going on, including April’s murder—so Dean figures it’ll be easier to just drop by the station, which leads him to hopping in the Impala and driving back into town.

He tries Benny another time on his drive back, but when he gets the same response the anxious feeling really sets in. He just prays Benny’s busy investigating a crime scene or something. Doesn’t stop him from pressing down on the gas a little harder.

By the time he’s back in Newport and pulling into the station, he’s trying to convince himself that his worry is unnecessary, but it does little to assuage his fears. He pulls over into a spot and jumps out of the Impala and all but storms into the police station.

The same lady is at the front desk as he storms in.

“Nice to see you again,” she greets with a warm smile that Dean’s hardly able to return. “Something wrong?” she asks, picking up on his panicked expression.

“Yeah. I’m looking for Benny—Office Lafitte. He around?”

The woman stares at him, puzzled, and shakes her head. “Well, he was here earlier this morning. Looked down right exhausted. Heard he’d pulled an all-nighter for something. Then he got a call and ran out about an hour ago. Said something about finding a lead.”

Every bit of that sounds suspect, and given what’s been going on lately, he can’t afford to take any chances of losing Benny when they’re this close.

“No clue where he went, right?” Dean asks.

The secretary shakes her head. “Benny’s been a bit secretive about what he’s doin’. I mean, I know you and he are working on some old cases, but he’s been even more secretive about it than usual. I think that last murder kinda got him a bit shook-up, or something.”

Dean nods and taps the desk lightly before shrugging, a million and one questions circling his mind as to where the hell Benny went. “Well, if you hear from him, can you tell him to give Agent Young a call?”

The secretary giggles. “Sure thing, hon.”

Dean shoots her one last smile before he turns and walks out of the station. He’s almost back to the Impala before he hears the door open behind him. He sees the familiar shape of the officer who was at April’s house the other day.

“Agent Young,” the officer asks.

“Oh, uh, hey. You’re that one officer... from the crime scene,” Dean stumbles, struggling to recall the guy’s name. All he can remember is how scrawny he looks for a police officer, even in a small town like this.

“It’s Officer Fitzgerald, but just call me Garth,” the guy says, grinning as if not at all bothered by the fact that Dean couldn’t even remember his name. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you were looking for Benny, and I—I’m not supposed to tell anyone—but I got a real bad feeling.”  

Dean’s stomach drops, and where there was mild amusement at this guy, now there’s a sudden rush of adrenaline, again.

“Alright, Garth. Do you know where Benny is?” Dean asks immediately.

The guy swallows. “He’s at Bart Harrington’s place. Big house over on the East Side, close to the water. Can’t miss it. It’s the only place like it in town. Benny said he was probably gonna be breakin’ the law; told me not come with him or to tell anyone where he was goin’.”

Dean shakes his head. “Sonuvabitch.”

“Look, Benny and I are friends. He helped me get this job and everything. But I feel like something’s going on and he’s in too deep. He’s been real obsessed with Bart lately. It started the other day when he went digging through Andre’s stuff. He found a couple’a papers in Andre’s stuff that hadn’t been filed away yet and then he just sorta started getting weird about stuff. You know, he even stuck a cop on Bart yesterday to track where he was and stuff.”

Dean curses inside. That sonuvabitch is going to get himself killed, and he can’t exactly afford to be a man down in a situation like this; hey need all hands on deck to find this heart—or whoever is controlling this thing. “Alright, I’ll go find him. Thanks for the tip, Garth.”

“No problem. And—uh—whatever’s going on, just keep Benny safe. Things just don’t feel right, and the sheriff is gettin’ a little pissed that he’s been so MIA lately,” Garth says, and it makes Dean wonder if Garth is like Benny, starting to learn that there’s more out there.

Either way Dean nods. “I’ll take care of it.”

Garth stands and watches Dean jump into the Impala and head off towards the harbor. There’s something sitting in the pit of his stomach like a lump and he wonders if Garth is right. Something about Bart hasn’t felt right since the first time Dean laid eyes on him, but for Benny to go in alone is foolish.

He digs his phone out of his pocket again and dials Benny. It rings and rings, and he fully expects it to go to voicemail, but much to his surprise it picks up and an immediate sense of relief fills him.

“Dean,” Benny greets, voice barely above a whisper.

“Benny! What the hell are you doing at Bart’s place?” Dean growls into the phone.

“Dean, listen. Bart, he’s the one. He’s up to—” a loud thump, like banging against a door, distracts Benny from answering. It comes several more times, before what sounds like a crash or explosion booms in the phone.

“Benny! Benny!”

His shouts aren’t answered and immediately he stomps harder on the gas, desperate to get to Bart’s house before something happens to Benny.

He knows that if it’s the Qareen, every second counts before it’s too little too late. He curses, refusing to let there be another dead body on his hands, especially not Benny.

______________________

It only takes him a few minutes to swerve onto the dirt drive and up to Bartholomew’s home, sitting alone near the harbor just like Garth said it would be. It’s eerily silent, but then again, Bartholomew seems like the type of person to have picked a place removed just far enough from the town that he can do whatever with no one paying much attention.

Dean pulls the car to a stop and hops out, quickly pulling his gun and machete from the glove compartment and making his way to the front porch. He braces himself for anything, but nothing seems off besides the door being slightly ajar, which is probably Benny’s doing.

He creeps inside and finds Bart’s house every bit as ostentatious and grandiose as he expected it to be. It’s all hardwood floors with expensive-looking paintings hanging on the walls, even a crystal chandelier hanging over a dark mahogany table in what looks to be his living room. Still, even with the outrageous display of status, it all feels off; like there’s a dark secret hidden below this extravagance.

“Benny!” Dean yells, looking for any signs of Benny or the Qareen.

The sounds of a commotion—thumps against a wooden door—cause him to snap his attention upstairs. Dean dashes up the stairs, fingers on the trigger ready to fire at any moment. When he gets upstairs he finds a mess. Shattered remnants of what looks like a coffee table and some chairs are scattered everywhere along with what look like bullet casings.

When Dean turns to look down the hall, he sees something—or rather—someone. The woman is strong, nearly destroying the door to whatever room she’s trying to get into, but failing to breach it fully. Dean wonders if it’s Benny on the other side. He pulls his phone out, thankful that it’s still got a little bit of battery left.

“Hey!” Dean yells while he starts the camera app.

The moment the woman turns around Dean’s taken aback by her beauty, gorgeous dark hair and olive skin, but the illusion is shattered when he sees the lens flare in the woman’s eyes on his phone screen. It’s the Qareen.

He raises the gun at her and fires a couple of shots, but they’re ineffective as they lodge in the monster’s body.

“You know that won’t work,” the Qareen says, offering a falsely sympathetic look.

Dean recalls the memories of this morning and Cas saying the Qareen can only be killed by stabbing its heart, and throws the safety of his gun on before tucking it in his belt and pulling out his machete.

“Yeah, well, maybe this will, so come at me, you sonuvabitch!” The Qareen takes the bait and charges at him and Dean braces himself, knowing that any wrong move could kill him. “Round three,” he mutters before he swings the knife.

The Qareen is fast, though, and catches his arm, twisting it and drawing a groan from Dean. Then, with a surge of inhuman strength, the Qareen flips him around, slamming his head against the wall with enough force to make him see double.

“Dammit,” Dean curses as he tries to catch his breath.  

Thinking fast, he knees the Qareen in its chest. It recoils just enough that Dean can put some distance between them while nursing his twisted arm. The Qareen charges with its fist raised and Dean quickly lunges out of the way before it can can land the punch, instead watching the fist fly through the wall.

He scrambles to his feet while the Qareen pull its fist free, leaving behind another decent-sized hole in the wall before turning its attention to Dean again.

Dean lunges again, this time attempting to punch with his free hand, but the Qareen catches it just as easily and twists, causing Dean to kneel as the pain grows to be too much. The Qareen smirks arrogantly. “Is that the best you’ve got?” it taunts.

“Not yet,” Dean smirks, before jamming the machete into the Qareen’s chest. Right where its heart should be.

The Qareen stumbles backwards, and for a moment Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

That victorious feeling is short-lived. He looks on in shock as the Qareen grips the machete handle tight and pulls it out of its chest. Dean’s still staring, shocked, when the Qareen grabs him and throws him clear across the hallway. His back slamming against the metal railing is the only thing that keeps him from sailing off the second floor of Bartholomew’s house to his death.

He’s groggily reaching for his gun when he’s hoisted up and slammed against the railing, which railing digs into his back with the force the Qareen uses to hold him in place. He anxiously looks around for something—anything—to help, but there’s nothing within reach besides the railing down to the first floor.  _ Hello, rock. Meet hard place _ .

“Your heart is mine,” the Qareen mocks. Dean watches the Qareen wind its arm back, fist ready to penetrate his chest and rip his heart out, just like it did April’s.

A sharp whistle captures both his and the Qareen’s attention and Dean looks up just in time to see Benny swing a chair, smacking the Qareen in the head and knocking it to the ground.

Dean stumbles back, immediately grasping for anything that will steady and keep him from falling, but it’s Benny’s firm hand gripping his jacket that keeps him from tumbling over.  

Benny looks battered and bruised, a little bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, but for the most part fine. His uniform is ripped, but he’s standing. Dean floods with a mix of relief and concern as Benny turns up to him and laughs, albeit weakly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“Same here. Though—uh—I think we should go. Bullets don’t hurt that thing so I don’t think a chair is gonna do much, either.”

“Good point,” Benny agrees, tossing the chair down on the beast. “But not before I get that book.”

“Book? The hell are you talking about?”

Benny doesn’t answer and simply runs back into the now-open room down the hall while Dean follows. Inside, the room appears to be a study or library, but Dean finally knows why this place feels so off. Amongst the bookshelves and statues littered around the study are half-burnt candles, some looking as recently lit as a few hours ago.

One tiny table in the corner has an elaborate pentagram drawn on it, alongside several metal cups and other things that Dean is confident are common spell-casting items. And just like that, it all clicks.

“I got the book!” Benny shouts, holding up a thick, oldish book—Dean has a strong suspicion it’s a witch’s grimoire—and makes a run for it, limping slightly as he makes his way towards the stairs. Dean follows suit, but he stops when he sees a knife lying on a bookcase. He knows it’s the same one that he’d given to Cas two years ago. The pattern on the handle is identical. Cas swore he lost it, but here it is at Bartholomew’s house. A million questions run through Dean’s head, but he tamps them down until later. He instead grabs the knife off the bookshelf and sprints out of the room, looking behind him one last time to see the Qareen slowly starting to move again.

When they’re outside, Dean runs to the Impala and waves him over. “That thing ain’t gonna stay down much longer. Let’s go!” Benny jumps into the passenger side and Dean backs out and drives off. Who knows where they’re headed next, but no matter what it beats staying in that house with that thing for even a second longer.

Benny is catching his breath beside him, leaning back into his seat while holding on for dear life to the grimoire in his hand. Dean can see that he’s still shaken up by what just happened, and who can blame him? Clearly, the Qareen had taken the form of someone he probably wasn’t expecting to see, which can’t be easy.

“How you holdin’ up?” Dean asks.

“As fine as I can be. Can’t say I was ready to see Andrea again, after all these years,” Benny says with a chuckle.

“Andrea?”

“That thing… the person it looked like. That was my ex. Haven’t seen her since I left Louisiana. Didn’t exactly part on good terms—or tell her where I was goin’, for that matter.”.

Dean nods. “Your ex, huh? She still alive? Hopefully Bart didn’t get to her.” Dean’s not sure why he asks about Benny’s ex. Maybe because it gives him another moment to process whatever the hell is going on.

“Doubt Bart even knows she exists. No one up here does. I haven’t spoken a word to Andrea since I asked her to run away with me.” Dean raises an eyebrow in interest in the backstory Benny references. “Andrea and I…we used to run with a bad crowd back in the old days. Gangbangers is the best way to put it. Andrea was the daughter of a big-time drug dealer, and I was her father’s right hand man. She was a real sharp girl. Smart as a whip, beautiful as they come, and scary as the devil himself. And yet she fell for a tramp like me.”

Dean’s focused on the road but he welcomes the chatter right now, using the time to calm down and formulate a plan on where they go from here. And even if it’s got nothing to do with the case, and despite the fact that he’s only known Benny a few days, he’s mildly intrigued how Benny turned from gangbanger to cop.

“So what happened to her?”

Benny shrugs. “I was never a fan of the life I lived. I was a poor boy from Louisiana. Got in purely from circumstance. Problem was, I fell in love. One day I got bold and figured Andrea and I could start a life together away from all of the gangbangin’. She wouldn’t budge. Said the drug life was where she belonged. She was their princess, after all. Told me I could stay with her or I could go. The cops were already close to us. I could’ve gone down with her, but I ran up here. My old man was from ‘round here a long time ago, so I started my life over as Benjamin Lafitte, Newport officer of the law.” 

“That couldn’t have been easy. Just up and leaving like that. But for what it’s worth, I think you made right choice, leaving that life behind.”

“Some days I think it was the biggest mistake of my life. I loved that woman with all my heart and I just abandoned her.” Dean feels a pang right in the chest. He knows that guilt all too well, and hearing Benny’s story is just another reminder of the chance he’s been given. “Always hoped Andrea would one day come back to me. Been missin’ her ever since, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to show up in Bart’s house tryin’ to kill me.”

Dean snorts at that, but is reminded of how close Benny came to dying and being another notch in this murder scheme. “Damn it, Benny. Why the hell did you think it was a good idea, goin’ in there alone?”

“Cause I’m an idiot, Dean,” Benny laughs self-deprecatingly as he leans back, grinning in a way that masks—or attempts to mask—the emotions he’s probably bottling up inside. “When you reminded me about that whole spat between Bart and Cain, I started lookin’ into Bart. Found all sorts of weird stuff on him, Dean. Guy definitely ain’t who he says he is. Problem is, I can’t find out who he is, either. That’s why I broke into his house.” Benny inhales sharply and lets it out. “Can’t say I expected to walk into some creepy occult stuff, or be tossed around by that thing.”

“Yeah, well. That thing is called a Qareen, and you were two minutes away from having your heart ripped out of your chest.”

“Just like April, huh?” Benny pauses, and Dean shifts his gaze over to see Benny swallow before taking in a deep breath. He figures the gravity of how close he was to death is finally hitting him. “How did you find where I was?”

“Garth. He was worried about you. Figured you were in some mess you didn’t have any business bein’ in, so he told me where to find you.”

Benny chuckles. “Told Garth to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, well, if it wasn’t for him, you’d probably be dead.”

Benny hums. “So where are we goin’?”

That’s as good a question as any, but Dean doesn’t have an answer for it right now. He thinks about Cas’ place, but that doesn’t sound like a great idea right about now. He feels raw and exposed just thinking about Cas. He’s not used to that feeling, and he can’t say he’s a fan of it, but eventually he’ll have to get over it. Sooner rather than later.

“Somewhere. We ain’t got a lot of time, though. I figure that thing isn’t done chasing after us just yet.”

The B&B is about the only place he can think of. While he hates to put other people in harm’s way, it’s probably the safest place they can go now. Bartholomew may not want too many eyes seeing what happened.

He’s got a million and one questions about Bartholomew, and why his library looks like a witch’s study, but he saves them until they’re safely in the confines of his room. He figures both of them could use the silence anyways.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean pulls into the bed and breakfast, hoping that a place full of people will be enough to deter the Qareen from following them. The front desk attendant, a tired-looking college kid, looks shocked and frightened when the two of them walk in, most likely from Benny’s beaten and tattered appearance, but he says nothing as they pass. Dean pays him no attention, still way too preoccupied with the proof that Bartholomew is the one who’s been behind all of this.

His room is just as he left it yesterday morning, before he and Cas went to find Cain and subsequently get their asses handed to them by the Qareen. Dean shuts the door, grabs a couple of beers out of the mini fridge, and tosses one to Benny as they both collapse into the chairs at the small table.

His mind is racing, mostly of thoughts of Bartholomew and the fact that the guy he’s gotten creepy vibes from this entire time is the one behind all of this. He’s also still trying to figure out what the hell to do about Cas, and now, even worse, how much did Cas know about Bartholomew?

“You’re a lucky sonuvabitch, you know?” Dean jokes as he pops the top of his beer, taking a sip.

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice. Thing caught me off-guard. Shoulda known better than to think Andrea would come lookin’ for me, especially at Bart’s house, of all places.” Benny says with a laugh that Dean can tell is self-deprecating. “For a second I thought I was seein’ her in a dream, then next second, my ex is beating the hell outta me and tryin’ to rip my heart out of my chest.”

“Hey, it fooled me, too. Nothing to be ashamed about,” Dean comforts. “So, you wanna tell me what you found in Bart’s house that was worth you nearly getting killed?”

Benny inhales a deep breath and exhales slowly before dropping the grimoire that he took from Bart’s house down onto the table. “Things weren’t adding up. I dug up Andre’s old files that got left in storage, down in the basement. Those last few weeks before he died, he’d been doing a lot of digging on Bart, and what he found was that—well—Bart Harrington doesn’t exist.”

“Doesn’t exist?” Dean takes a swig of his beer. “As much as I wish Bart didn’t exist, that guy is very-much-real pain in my ass. And now, apparently, a witch.”

“Not like that, Dean. I meant, like he just magically appeared here in Newport.” Benny sighs, looking distraught for a moment. “See, Bart told people he came from old family money. Said the Harringtons had ties to Newport and have been around for a long time. What Andre found contradicted everything Bart said. According to Andre’s notes, there ain’t ever been a Harrington family in Newport and if there ever was, Bart ain’t one of them. So, I asked Garth to pull some information on Bart. Just to see if it matched with what I found in Andre’s notes, and it did. Dean, Bart ain’t who he says he is.”

Dean raises an eyebrow anxiously. “So, Bart just magically shows up here in town with this name and tries to take over Cain’s company?”

Benny shakes his head. “I think it’s more serious than that, Dean.” Benny pulls out his phone and types a few things on it before throwing it to Dean. “Take a look at this. It’s a video I took at Bart’s place for evidence.”

Dean sees a video pulled up on the screen and presses play. He can hear Benny’s breathing in the background and gets a weird chill as he sees what almost looks like a basement of some sort. Benny’s flashlight only barely helps illuminate the dark room as Benny walks through, making large, panoramic movements to indicate the half-lit candles littering every surface. He hears Benny mutter  _ what the hell _ and walk towards a table.

“Sonuvabitch,” Dean mutters as the video zooms in on the table that is littered with dark, ritualistic materials. There’s a cross, an intricate pentagram etched into the wood, with a creepy goat skull sitting right on the center. But more disturbing than all of that is the jar sitting on the table, next to the cross, filled with what looks like... hair. Dean can’t see it too clearly, but it’s all different types of hair clumped together, and it’s unsettling to look at. It’s even more unsettling when he finally remembers the missing locks of April’s hair.

“Is that… April’s?”

Benny nods. “While I can’t say for sure, I ain’t got a doubt in my mind that it’s hers, brother.”

“Sick sonuvabitch. The people he kills… he’s keeping their hair as trophies, or maybe some weird spell or ritual.” Dean remembers the knife that had been in Bartholomew’s study and pulls it out of his jacket pocket. “Maybe that explains why Bart had this knife in his house.”

“That knife? Why?”

Dean shows Benny the engraving on it, Castiel’s name carved into the handle. “Made this for Cas a few years ago. It was gift, back before I knew he was a witch and all. When I came here, Cas said he’d lost it. But it turns out it was in Bart’s place all along. Question is, did Cas leave it there or did Bart steal it?”

“Maybe there’s something in this book of Bart’s,” Benny mentions as he holds the spell book up.

“Let me see that,” Dean says, standing up as he takes the book from Bart. The cover is everything he’d expect from a witch’s grimoire. It looks old, and etched into the cover of the book is some orate pentagram surrounded by strange flowery designs. He opens it up to an earmarked page for a love spell, complete with a picture of some flower apparently required as an ingredient and an explanation of the spell, alongside a Latin incantation. “Yeah, definitely a grimoire.”

“A grim-wha?” Benny inquires, confused.

“Grimoire. Basically, a cookbook for witches’ homemade spells and potions.” Dean lays the book down on the desk and Benny stands to look at it with him. “If you found this in Bart’s house, then it looks like he’s a witch.”

“So, somethin’ in this book will prove that Bart’s the one who brought that thing here.”

As Dean flips through several more pages, staring intently at the incantations, he grunts. “It should.” There’s no shortage of strange spells that Bartholomew has marked in here. Tracking spells, mind-reading spells, even spells to bind supernatural creatures. The spells that Bartholomew has marked run a wide gamut. When he gets towards the back of the grimoire, he smirks.

“Found it.” The picture of the Qareen holding its heart is almost a replica of the one in Cas’ own book. Beside it is a Latin incantation, but there’s no translation of it what it means. Thankfully, he doesn’t need it because on the next page is a subjugation spell.

Benny leans in closer and grunts as he tries to no doubt make sense of all of this. “Now, I ain’t no dummy, Dean, but the hell is all of this mean?”

“That,” Dean says as he points to the picture of the Qareen, “is what you just saw back in Bart’s house. This is the Qareen that’s been going around killing everyone.”

Benny shakes his head, disbelief filling his bright, blue eyes. “Dean, I know what I saw in Bart’s house, and that thing… whatever the hell it was, looking just like my Andrea. Didn’t look nothin’ like this.”

“It’s what the Qareen does. It turns into a person’s deepest desire, which is why the Qareen looked like her,” Dean notes mostly to himself, but still earning him a puzzled glance from the officer.

“Fraid you’re gonna have to slow it down and explain this  _ Qa-reen _ business to me, Dean.”

“Right. See when this thing—this Qareen— finds someone, it shape-shifts into whoever its target desires, deep down. When it saw you in Bart’s house, it looked like Andrea. When that thing confronted me, it looked and sounded like Cas.” The  _ because I’m still in love with him _ part goes unsaid, but Benny’s nod of understanding is all the proof he needs that Benny already knows.

“So, if that thing does all of that, then the reason someone saw Cas at April’s is because April was in love with Cas,” Benny hesitantly explains, scratching his beard as Dean watches the gears in his head turning.

“Hey, now you got it,” Dean says clapping Benny on the shoulder. “See, there’s these things that can turn into people if they touch ’em. We call those  _ shifters _ . This thing, though, it turns into anyone you got a hard-on for and doesn’t even have to touch you. Which means it has the ability to turn into just about anybody.

Benny continues scratching his beard, completely lost in thought. “Now it all makes sense. Cain seeing his dead wife, Shane Welch seeing Whitney Ackerman. If that thing was turnin’ into those people they loved, then it explains why everyone thought we’d hit a dead end. But now we know that this…  _ thing _ was creating the perfect alibi.”

“And based on what Cas and I found, we know that this  _ Qareen _ is more than likely being controlled by someone, and you just found the missing piece of the puzzle. That grimoire being in Bart’s house means it’s him.”

Benny huffs before chuckling to himself. “Damn. And here I thought witches were the craziest things I was ever gonna see in my lifetime. Turns out there’s a whole ’nother league of weird, messed-up stuff out there.”

“Yeah, well, this doesn’t even scratch the surface of crazy shit you see as a hunter.” As much as Dean wants to continue their friendly conversation, he knows they’re running low on time. The Qareen is surely waiting for a chance to strike again, and the quicker they know how to stop it, the sooner he can wrap this up and get the hell out of here. “So, now the question is:  why Bart is doing all of this?”

Benny takes a long drink of his beer before dropping it down on the desk behind him. “I have absolutely no idea, brother.”

“Well… Bart’s a witch, and in my experience witches don’t exactly need a reason to act like a big of dicks. That being said, Bart doesn’t strike me as the type to do something without a reason.”

“It don’t make sense though, Dean. What does he get out of it? I don’t recall him having a tie to half the people that this Qareen thing has killed.”

Dean plops back down into his chair, taking another swig of his beer before pausing to think. “Well, let’s think about it. Cain makes sense because Bart wanted his company, so he framed Cain to look crazy to take it. And your partner, Andre, too. If Bart thought he was close to exposing him then he’d be desperate to take him out. So, he uses the Qareen to drown him. Make it look like a suicide so no one suspects foul play.”

“Which leaves April, Daphne Allen, Shane Welch, and Whitney Ackerman,” Benny ticks the names off on his fingers.

“Yeah, and none of those cases have anything in common with each other besides the missing strands of hair that we now have in Bart’s house. But unless they all did something to offend him, that’s it. Like Whitney Ackerman. I mean, the only thing she could’ve done to offend Bart was kick him out of her and her husband’s weird open marriage thing.”

Benny quietly contemplates Dean’s words. “Does there have to be a reason?” Benny questions. “Like you said, witches just wanna cause chaos. We’ve both seen enough messed up shit in this world to know that some people just do messed up things because they can.”

Dean shakes his head, standing up as he starts to pace a little as he processes the mind of someone like Bartholomew.

“Yeah, but not him. The guy seems calculating. I mean, he’s a witch and yet he makes this… thing go out and do the killing for him. He’s got to have a reason. But the only things we know about Bart are that he’s rich and he’s got a weird-ass obsession with Cas.”

It’s silent for a moment until Dean turns to see Benny shoot up straight in his chair, looking as though the lightbulb in his brain finally turned on.

“What if it ain’t about the Ackermans?”

“The hell does that mean?” Dean fires back.

“Think about it, Dean. Three out of the four victims all have one thing in common with each other. One thing that Bart wants.”

Dean’s feels a chill creep up his spine and a lump return to his throat.

“Cas.” Dean turns to face Benny, but the adrenaline is pumping in his body. Bart was after Cas from the beginning, and based on their last conversation in the bar, he still very much is. “That sonuvabitch killed those people because he’s obsessed with Cas.”

“Not only killed ‘em. He made ‘em suffer,” Benny adds. “Shane Welch: sleeps with Cas and Whitney Ackerman, so Bart tortures the guy by using the Qareen to kill Whitney and frame Shane for the murder. Then turns around and uses that thing to kill Shane the exact same way.”

“And then there’s Daphne. She and Cas were happy, maybe falling in love, so Bart dresses the Qareen up as her dead fiancé, Emmanuel, and breaks the poor girl’s psyche. Daphne freezes to death thinking her fiancé is somehow still alive. Gets the job done without dirtying his own hands.”

All the puzzle pieces start to fall into place, and it finally does for Benny, too.

“You and April,” Benny starts. Dean nods as it finally all clicks. “Bart wanted to kill you both, didn’t he? That’s why that thing thing attacked you when you came into town. He’s the one who tricked you into coming up here, isn’t he?”

Dean’s throat dries as he realizes the danger they’re all in. He’s still angry with Cas (though he has zero right to be), but Bart’s cornered, which means he’ll lash out at anyone and everyone. They always do.

“That thing turned into me when it saw Cas. If Bart knew that beforehand then I don’t doubt that he’s the one who made the call.”

“And if he had that thing try and kill me, that means he knows we’re on to him. Dean, we gotta find Cas.”

“Cas still looked like hell this morning from dealing with that thing last night. If Bart or that thing get to him first, he’s screwed. C’mon!” Dean rushes to grab the keys to the Impala. He’ll worry about calling Cas when they’re in the car, but he needs to see with his own two eyes that Cas is safe.

Benny doesn’t lag at all, jumping up to follow Dean as they run out of the B&B just as quickly as they’d come in. Dean’s zoned out, focused only on getting to Cas before Bart does and praying that Cas is alright.

He peels the Impala out of the parking lot and speeds, knowing full well that he can’t get in trouble with Benny beside him. He digs his phone out of his pocket and fumbles to pull up Cas’ number, his fingers trembling with anxiety the entire time.

It rings… and rings… and rings, with no answer.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean growls. He waits for Cas’ voicemail to come up before yelling into the speaker. “Cas, answer your damn phone! That thing tried to kill Benny and we think it’s after you! Ward yourself or do something, but stay away from Bart!”

He cuts the line but immediately re-dials, narrowly avoiding a car that honks as he runs a red light.

Benny takes the phone, earning an instant glare from Dean. “You drive, brother. I’ll keep dialin’.”

Dean nods and focuses on the road, unbothered by the cars that honk as he maneuvers around them, in some cases narrowly avoiding an accident. Benny doesn’t seem to care as he continues to dial Cas’ number on both Dean’s phone and his own. Each dial leads to Cas’ same voicemail replaying.

“Dean… I hate to say it, but I think something may have happened to Cas.”

“That asshole better just be asleep, or left his phone somewhere. Gimme the phone,” he demands, and Benny relents, albeit hesitantly.

The phone rings as it touches Dean’s hand and Cas’ name appears on the screen. Dean immediately presses answer, a sense of relief filling his entire body as he exhales his worry.

“Dammit, Cas. You scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry to disappoint you,  _ Dean Winchester _ .”

Bartholomew’s voice on the other end has Dean gripping the phone so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t cracked. The edges of his vision tinge red and his blood pressure and heart rate spike. Dean swerves off the road into a parking lot, confident he’d cause an accident driving with this level of rage.

“You sonuvabitch! Where’s Cas?” Dean yells.

“No need for yelling, Mr. Winchester,” Bartholomew purrs. It’s equal parts patronizing and sarcastic. Dean’s nostrils flare. “Castiel is fine. Just unable to answer the phone right now. If you recall, I was quite clear that I don’t harm things that are precious to me.”

“Your days are numbered, Bart. That thing you sent to kill me screwed up,” Benny adds, and for the first time, Dean sees a real flare of anger in the deputy.

“Ahh, Officer Lafitte. I must say, I was quite disappointed when I’d discovered that my pet let you escape alive. I was hoping that you would go the same way as your partner. What was his name? Andre, was it?”

Everything about Benny goes rigid with tension. His fists clench, and Dean sees murder flickering in his eyes. Benny is quiet, though, and Dean admires the way he doesn’t lash out the way he knows he wants to. The rage simply seethes underneath and Dean figures he can share tearing Bartholomew apart with him—and Cas, too, when they find him.

“Listen, you sonuvabitch! You touch a hair on Cas’ head, I’m gonna make sure I put a bullet right between your eyes,” Dean growls.

“Scary words from Dean Winchester, hunter-extraordinaire,” Bartholomew taunts with a snicker. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your chance. Though I find it funny you accuse me of harming Castiel when he’s only in this predicament because you hurt him first.” There’s an sudden, sharp edge to Bartholomew’s tone now, but his voice is low and serial-killer calm. “You betrayed him, Dean. Cast him aside because he was a witch. But he was still going to take you back.  _ I’m _ the one who knows the burden of witchcraft.  _ I _ give him everything. Love, attention, understanding. When you left him broken, I was the one who tried to put him back together. And yet his heart still belongs to you.” If Bartholomew’s words were knives, Dean would be carved into a million pieces. 

“Hate to break it to you, Bart, but you and Cas aren’t anything alike. Witch or not, Cas isn’t a psychotic, entitled, murdering dick like you.”

Bartholomew snorts again and Dean has to swallow the urge to throw his phone through the windshield. “I’m waiting for you down at the Bayview, near the shore. Office Lafitte should know exactly where that is. You boys come alone, or I guarantee that the Qareen will kill again and again, until this town is reduced to nothing.”

The line goes dead and Dean only barely manages to avoid crushing his phone by dropping it onto the seat between him and Benny.

Dean bangs a fist against the steering wheel a couple of times. “Goddamnit!”

“Calm down, Dean,” Benny soothes.

“Calm down? How the hell can I be calm when that bastard has Cas?”

Benny huffs and pats Dean on the shoulder. “Dean, Cas is gonna be fine. Bart ain’t gonna hurt him. He’s obsessed with him. If anything, Bart’s layin’ a trap for us. Removing the only people that he sees as a threat to get to Cas.”

Dean inhales sharply before slowly letting it out. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He instinctively knows that this is the last confrontation—either they come out of this alive or Bart wins, Dean and Benny get buried six feet under, and Cas… well, he doesn’t want to think about that.

“We’re going into this blind,” Dean says matter-of-factly. “Bart’s gonna hit us with everything he’s got, including the Qareen.”

“Talkin’ to a former gangbanger here, Dean. I ain’t exactly a stranger to life-n-death situations like this, and I’m sure as hell not about to let Bart win, so I say let’s go.”

Dean turns to Benny and nods, pursing his lips as he throws the Impala in reverse. “Alright. Let’s go get that dickbag and save Cas.”

He steps on the gas, silently pleading to Cas to hold on just a little bit longer. He owes it to Cas to save him from Bart, even if it costs him his life to do so.

______________________

“The hell did Bart pick this place for?” Dean grumbles as he pulls the Impala into a deserted parking lot outside a shabby-looking restaurant, or store, or some odd combination of both that Dean’s not quite sure of.

“It’s the Bayview, Dean. Only open in the summer when we get all sorts of tourists up here. Owner lives somewhere down in Georgia and only comes up during tourist season. Guess Bart figures it’s not a bad place to hide a few bodies,” Benny says, seemingly unbothered.

True to its name, the place overlooks the shore where the waves reflect an eerie dark purple as the sun sets. As Dean steps out of the Impala, he can sense the eeriness, too. Dark clouds are rolling in and it feels like rain could start up soon.

Dean pops the trunk and contemplates his weapons.

“So, what’s the plan?” Benny asks as he saunters up beside him, whistling in appreciation as he checks out the arsenal of weapons in the trunk.

“I’ll let you know when I get one,” Dean grunts as he fishes for anything that might be remotely effective against the Qareen.

“Hate to break it to ya, brother, but it don’t exactly sound like a great idea, goin’ in there without at least something.”

Dean ignores him as he digs for a container of the witch-killing bullets that Sam made for him the last time he’d popped in for a visit. It’s yet another reason he misses having that giant around with him. Sam had the aptitude for spells and shit, while Dean preferred to keep his distance from it.

He counts enough bullets for a full clip for himself and one for Benny, and loads half them into his gun before handing the rest to Benny. 

“Witch-killing bullets. Can’t kill’ em with regular ones. You hit Bart with this, should put the sonuvabitch down for good. Just—uh—make sure you don’t hit Cas. Think that goes without saying.”

“Can’t believe there are manufactured bullets just to kill a witch.”

Dean tucks his machete into his belt before slamming the trunk closed. “They’re not exactly on the market. Got a genius brother who turned a witch-killing spell into a bullet. I keep a handful on me, just in case.” He cocks his gun and does a quick survey of the area. He has no doubt that Bart’s watching, or at least aware of their presence. He counts on seeing that thing, too—probably looking just like Cas.

“What about the thing… the Qareen? We couldn’t beat that thing before, and I don’t expect it’s gonna go down without a fight this time, either.”

Dean recalls what little Cas told him about the monster, and it leaves him feeling even more anxious now than before.

“Only way to kill that thing is to stab its heart.”

“In case you forgot, brother, we don’t know where that is,” Benny quips, and yeah, he definitely hasn’t forgotten that one little tidbit.

“The goal is to find Cas and kill Bart. If we’re lucky, killing Bart will cut his connection to the Qareen and we can eventually kill it.” Dean makes his way to the front of the shop and pushes the door open, unsurprised that the lock has been undone, either by hand or  other—more magical— means.

The floorboards creak as Dean steps inside, gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He swings the flashlight back and forth, illuminating the interior. It’s bigger than the outside makes it appear. Dusty tables and chairs are everywhere and the last, fading remnants of sunlight filter in through dust-coated windows. Dean figures it’s a pretty nice place when it’s open and running, especially with the view of the water.

All that matters now is that there’s no sign of Bart, Cas, or the Qareen.

“You think he knows we’re here yet?” Benny asks as he looks around with his own flashlight.

“Sonuvabitch is probably watching us through his damn crystal ball right now,” Dean grumbles.

“A crystal ball? Really, Dean?”

“Damn it. I don’t know. All I know is that we’re probably walking into a trap, and I wanna put a bullet in Bart’s face right now.” Dean finds a door labeled “gift shop” and whistles to get Benny’s attention, motioning for him to follow behind. 

“Damn… a gift shop too?”

Decorative knick-knacks line old wooden shelves and display stands filled with postcards and various other things you’d find in any tourist trap sit idly on the floor. It’s eerily silent, but he can feel the presence of someone or something nearby, just waiting for the moment he lets his guard down.

“The old man who owns this place makes a killing off the tourists. This place is packed just about every day in the summer. Andre used to pick this place for lunch; it was always his treat. Eventually I figured out the old man gave him free food cause Andre’d keep the place tidy during the off season,” Benny says.

Benny’s story is just a reminder of someone else who suffered because of Bart. Benny’s friend and partner is gone, and all because of Bart’s obsession with Cas.

Banging echoes through the gift shop and immediately both Dean and Benny raise their guns. There’s more banging, and Dean slowly turns and settles on an unlabeled door. The banging gets louder and he has a feeling he knows what’s coming next.

“Dean,” Benny warns.

“Two steps ahead of you,” Dean counters, gun trained on the door and finger on the trigger, waiting for whatever it is to come through and get a gut full of bullets.

The door bursts open and Dean swallows when he sees Cas standing in the doorway. He seems confused, his gaze is focused solely on Dean, not once turning to Benny as he takes a step forward. It’s unnerving.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greets. That voice sounds sultry and deep, just like Cas’, but Dean remembers what Cain said. Even though this looks and sounds just like Cas, he can feel just how off it is. 

Benny seems more relieved, lowering his gun and taking a step forward.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Good to see ya got out, Cas,” Benny sighs.

“Benny, don’t!” Dean shouts. Benny stops, looking between Dean and Cas suspiciously. Dean trains his gun on Cas and prepares himself. “That’s not our Cas.” He shines his flashlight at Cas, watching as the bright light creates a lens flare behind Cas’ irises, signaling it’s the Qareen.

Benny hops back and trains his weapon almost immediately.

Cas—or the Qareen—tries its best to imitate Cas, tilting its head just like Cas would. It’s a good ruse, and anyone else, probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. But it’s not enough to fool him. It never will, no matter how hard it—or Bart—tries.

“Now that’s hurtful, Dean,” Cas says, taking another step closer. The Qareen wears a mocking look of offense. Dean sneers, his grip on his gun tightening as he keeps it trained on the monster’s every move. He takes a few deep breaths to center himself. He knows it’s a waste to shoot it, and that he should save every bullet to pump into Bart. The Qareen takes another step forward, smirking now. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’d give a damn if you really were Cas. Right now, hurting you is all that matters,” Dean bites back.

“And you would know a lot about hurting, wouldn’t you, Dean?” the Qareen taunts, smirking as it circles them. Dean and Benny step in sync, ensuring that they’re face-to-face with it every second. “I’ve seen inside your heart, Dean Winchester. You love him. Have loved him for a long time. But there is so much shame and regret. Your heart aches for him.” The Qareen smirks while Dean feels the bile in his stomach bubble. The creature speaks the truth in such a such a venomous, mocking way, while using Cas voice and body to do so. “The truth is, Castiel is no better. Both of you are just so lost in your feelings for each other.”

“Yeah, and what makes you the expert on that?” Dean grumbles.

The Qareen reaches places a hand on its chest, gripping the fabric of the shirt as though trying to clutch its heart. “When it comes to the heart, I know all things, Dean. I feel what you feel for Castiel.”

Dean scoffs. “Big talk for something that doesn’t have a heart.”

The Qareen smirks, and Dean feels a surge of anger that has his trigger finger trembling with the urge to pull it, even though he knows it’ll be useless.

“That doesn’t matter, Dean. What does matter is that I will take yours. One way or another.”

Dean scoffs and grins. “Where’s Bart and Cas?”

The Qareen chuckles as it takes another step towards him. “Somewhere. But why worry about Castiel when you can have me, instead? I can be everything you want in Castiel, and more.”

“I think I’ll take my chances on the real one, thanks, instead of a cheap knock off.” Dean’s brain is moving fast, but the thoughts are disjointed, especially as he’s confronted with this unbeatable thing without having its one weakness—its heart—anywhere in sight.

Dean only has a moment to realize how close the Qareen is before that cocky smirk on the Qareen’s face fades into a bitter scowl and it throws a bunch. Dean narrowly ducks it, side-stepping out of the way. When he looks up, he sees the hole left in the wall, but that’s all he sees before he feels a hand grab him by the the collar of his shirt. It hoists him up effortlessly before slamming him against the counter, knocking over a display and the breath flying out of him. The Qareen is so strong that his struggling to free himself from it’s grip yields no results.

Two deafening gunshots ring out and Dean sees two bullet wounds in the Qareen’s side and Benny holding a smoking gun. The Qareen turns to Benny and Dean sees the amused grin spread across its face.

“You should know by now that doesn’t work,” it taunts.

The distraction is brief, but long enough that Dean has time to feel around on the counter, grab something heavy and metal, and swing it, hitting the Qareen in the face. It staggers back, and Benny quickly springs into action, wrestling the slightly dazed Qareen into a full nelson while Dean catches his breath.

“Any ideas, Dean?” Benny grunts as the Qareen begins to struggle. “I’m not gonna be able to hold it long.”

“Well, if guns won’t kill it, maybe we can beat the hell out of it.” Grabbing the lamp again, Dean takes aim at the Qareen’s head, but it elbows Benny hard in the ribs before quickly turning and tossing him halfway across the shop.

“Benny!” Dean shouts in concern, stepping forward to take a swing with the lamp. The Qareen catches the lamp and twists it free from Dean’s grasp while using its free hand to backhand Dean with enough force to send him rolling .

The blow makes his head spin, but he manages to focus on the Qareen storming towards him, a sinister grin on its— _ Cas’ _ —face. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Benny stumble to his feet and the roar of another gunshot echoes in the room as Benny fires into its back.

The Qareen shows no signs of pain, but turns to Benny with an irritated scowl. Dean takes the small window of opportunity he needs, grabbing a large chalkboard sign and he charging at the Qareen. He blindly swings it, waiting for the satisfying thump, but before it lands he feels his body freeze. He struggles to move, but nothing happens.

“ _ Abite _ !”

Dean’s body goes flying, slamming into a display, the shelf breaking and the food falling on top of him. He opens his eyes and sees Bartholomew standing next to the Qareen. Bartholomew smirks as he steps forward, inching closer and closer to Dean until Dean is staring down black oxfords. When Dean looks up, Bartholomew crouches down, almost to eye level with him, beaming with what Dean can only assume is sadistic elation.

“Hello again, Agent Young, or can I finally call you Dean?”


	12. Chapter 12

Dean coughs, his breath coming to him in short little gasps as he struggles to settle his breathing. His body feels paralyzed from the shock of the sudden impact. Bartholomew rises back to his feet, inhaling deeply, a smug, satisfied smirk spreading across his face. God, Dean wants to punch it off of him.

“God, I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Bartholomew laughs.

Dean struggles to push himself up, looking over to his gun, lying only a couple of feet away from him.

“Yeah, well, take a picture, cause this is the only time you’re gonna see it.” Using what little bit of energy he’s got left, he lunges for his weapon.

Bart raises his hand and Dean feels his body seize up right as the gun is almost within his grasp. “ _ Exurgo! _ ” Bartholomew raises his fist and Dean feels an invisible force lift him off the ground. “ _ Abite! _ ” Bart throws his arm out and Dean goes flying with it, sailing through the air and crashing into what feels like solid wood.

The impact knocks the wind out of him again, and black tinges the edges of his vision, but before he can even try to catch his breath, he’s flung across the room again, landing hard on the floor.

His head is ringing. He feels one step away from losing consciousness, or worse.

He barely registers the sound of footsteps inching closer to him again.

“Is this all the great Dean Winchester can manage?” Bartholomew sneers as the noise of footsteps stops. Bartholomew clicks his tongue while Dean looks up to see the scorn in his face. Even though he’s delirious he can see something wild and almost unhinged in Bart’s expression. It’s no surprise, though. Bart’s played his last hand. He’s got nothing to lose anymore. Dean realizes he really might die right now.

“And to think I almost gave my opportunity to kill you with my own hands to the Qareen,” Bartholomew teases.

“Should’ve done a better job trying to kill me, then,” Dean sputters in between coughs as he struggles to breathe.

Damn witches.

In the other room, Dean hears a crash and struggle through the ringing in his ears; he can faintly make out Benny, but from what he can hear it doesn’t sound good.

“I’ll let the Qareen handle Office Lafitte. I’ve been wanting some alone time with you.”

“You sonuvabitch. Where’s Cas?” Dean mutters.

“Castiel is fine. He’s simply sleeping while I deal with you. After we’re finished here we’ll take our leave of this— _ abhorrent _ —town.”

Dean can’t help but snicker defiantly while starting Bartholomew dead in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Bart? Couldn’t win Cas with the ol’ charm, so you had to magic him to sleep? Sounds like the sex wasn’t all that good.”

There’s another chink in Bartholomew’s armor, his mildly amused expression sinking as his eyebrows knit together and his jaw clenches tight. Dean’s struck a nerve and that brings him an immense amount of joy.

All it takes is one flick of his finger for Bartholomew to send him flying again, into more tables and chairs. But it doesn’t end there. That same magical force pulls Dean up off the floor before pinning him onto a chair. He struggles and squirms, but the magic is too strong. He’s been up against witches before, but Bartholomew is on another level. When he gives up trying to free himself, he looks over to see Bartholomew watching with a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“Do you know how long and hard I worked for this?” Bartholomew asks.

“Worked for what? Gonna have to be more specific here, pal.”

“This!” Bartholomew shouts. “Everything. From moving to this shithole, to wasting the Qareen on that old hack, Cain. All of it to win Castiel’s affections.” Bartholomew creeps closer now, and even in the dusty light that filters in, Dean can see the shimmer of sweat on his forehead. “I thought I was close. But when I had the Qareen meet Castiel, to find what he truly desired, deep in his heart, I finally saw the truth. All those who Castiel chose over me, Shane and Daphne… they were mirrors of you. Fair hair and green eyes. Castiel was still in love with you. I picked them off, one by one, but somehow you kept getting in the way. No matter what I did, nothing could fill that place in his heart that you seemed to occupy. So I knew that I had to get rid of you myself.”

Dean snorts at that. “Sounds like Cas just wasn’t that into you.”

Bartholomew snaps his finger, and Dean finds his voice gone. He opens his mouth, but there’s nothing. “You don’t know when to shut up do you?” Bartholomew paces back and forth in front of him. “I spent years waiting for someone like Castiel. That sheer, raw talent he has in witchcraft is practically unheard of. But I guess you wouldn’t know that would you,  _ hunter _ ?” The raw disdain that drips from Bartholomew’s voice makes his chest tight. “Castiel hid a part of himself for someone as lowly as you. Magic that strong, that powerful, deserves to be used. And yet, he gave all that up… for you.”

Bartholomew paces back and forth now, his composure devolving into an almost manic state. “I bet Castiel never told you the truth about himself. About how he came from the prestigious Novak family—one of the most notable witch families for generations? Or how his mother was one of the most sought-after tutors of white magic? And of course, he never told you about the pain he felt, turning his back on all of that for one measly hunter.”

Bartholomew whirls upon Dean, getting right up into his face and leaning down until they’re at eye level. His nostrils flare as rage fills every ounce of his being. He snaps his finger and Dean can feel his voice return. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” Dean growls defiantly.

“I want you to say how undeserving of Castiel you are. I want your last words to be your admission that you never deserved him in the first place.”

Even in a moment like this, the only thing Dean can do is smile and chuckle at Bartholomew’s demand. When he thinks about Cas, it’s not about the last several days here in Newport, and it’s not about the last time they saw each other two years ago. Instead, he pulls memories of a hunt in Rocheport, Missouri. He remembers that last night they spent curled up in bed together. It was the first time he realized he loved Cas, and now as he stares what he could easily be death in the face, he realizes that moment never faded.

“Hate to break it to you, Bart, but no can do.”

Bartholomew’s eyes are wild with anger. There’s a sharp inhale of breath, and Dean doesn’t have time to prepare for the fist that socks him right in the jaw. Dean’s head snaps to the side and he can feel the loose teeth and taste the blood in his mouth from the force of the blow. But to see Bartholomew lose it as he’s denied this one thing is worth the pain.

“Say it!”

Dean spits blood at Bart’s feet and just keeps smiling. “Go to hell.” Another punch connects, but Dean weathers it, still grinning through bloody teeth and a rapidly swelling eye. “You think Cas’ll stick around? He’s got your number, Bart. Now he sees you for the monster you really are.”

Bartholomew’s breathing is erratic. His eyes furiously scan Dean’s entire body, analyzing him. When Bartholomew stands, he struggles to regain that calm demeanor he’d maintained for so long. Now the most he can manage is something right beneath righteous fury.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll make him forget. I’ll wipe his memory clean with every spell in the book. It may take a while, and he may not even be the same person when I’m done. But I will have him, Dean Winchester. Just like I deserve. And you,” Bartholomew stops to laugh, a maniacal arrogance painting his expression. “I will see to it that you atone for your sins of robbing this world of his magic with your death.”

“ _ Et occidere per suffocationem _ ,” Bartholomew chants. He makes a gesture with one hand like he wants to choke someone, and Dean feels a tight grip around his throat, cutting off his air supply. He tries to grasp at his neck, but his body is still pinned down. Bartholomew laughs at the struggle.

“I can’t decide which will be more satisfying, crushing your windpipe, or your heart.” Bartholomew repeats the gesture with his other hand and Dean feels a vice-grip on his chest like someone is squeezing his heart. “ _Fiat cor tuum, et oppressi_!” Dean’s body is one giant bubble of pressure as the pain becomes unbearable. He’s sure his body is going to implode, and that his only relief will be death.

Suddenly, a body flies through the wall of the restaurant, distracting Bartholomew enough that he drops the spells killing Dean. His body goes slack in the chair as he desperately gasps for air, sliding to the floor. He weakly raises his head enough to look at what’s come bursting through the wall. It’s… Cas—or the Qareen—and standing on the other side of human sized hole in the wall is none other than…  _ Cas _ .

“C… Cas?” he struggles to speak.

“Castiel? But that’s impossible,” Bartholomew sputters, obviously shocked with how wide his eyes are.

“ _ Ol sonf vorsg _ !”

Dean gapes as a burst of air sends Bartholomew flying backwards, followed by the sounds of bending metal and snapping wood as Bartholomew crashes into the tables and chairs. Dean now knows for sure that this is  _ his _ Cas.

“You underestimated me, Bartholomew,” Cas says calmly, though Dean hears the anger in that slight growl and edge to his voice, as he steps through the hole in the wall. His presence is a storm. Dean can feel it from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. There is a indescribable mix of emotion that ebbs and flows in Cas’ eyes. There’s anger, there’s hate, there’s regret. When Cas looks down at Dean, time stops. Their gazes connect, and Dean can feel the power that’s emanating from Cas coursing through him, too. It’s bizarre and completely overwhelming; Dean can only lay there on the floor, staring.

“How?” Bartholomew barks as he stands up from the wreck. The Qareen stands beside him, expression angry as it continues to look just like Castiel. “You were supposed to be asleep. That spell was full-proof. How are you here?”

“I figured out what you were before you kidnapped me, and took extra precautions.” Cas rolls up the sleeve of his left arm to reveal a long line of strange, blood-red markings that crawl up even past where his shirt sleeve bunches together.

“You warded yourself,” Bartholomew mutters.

“A spell using Enochian runes, drawn in my blood. It dilutes the effects of any magic. Your sleeping spell was only half as effective. Once you left, I used that as my chance to get free.”

Bartholomew starts beaming, almost like a proud father would, and he even begins to laugh, as though this entire thing is a joke. “I expected nothing less from you, Castiel.” He throws his hand out and another invisible force throws Castiel back against the wall. Dean can only look on in horror.

“Cas!” Dean shouts.

Bartholomew ignores him, focusing all his attention on Castiel and still grinning maniacally. “You are something else, Castiel. Even when I think I’ve caught you off-guard, you still surprise me by being one step ahead.  _ Prohibere _ .” Castiel is pushing himself up on his feet, but as the word is spoken his body comes to a complete stop as he glowers at Bartholomew angrily. “Don’t you see how wasted your talents are here? A witch of your level—of your caliber—deserves to be with someone who understands you. I can give that to you, Castiel.”

“At what cost?” Castiel counters. “My mother taught white magic. Magic that could heal and that did not harm humans. You use your magic to kill and hurt. I would never be with someone who would use magic for such dark purposes.” Dean can see the fury in Castiel’s eyes. It’s a betrayal and rage that Dean’s never seen before, not even when he pushed him away all that time ago. “I thought you were misunderstood, just like I was, and that I could trust you. But now I know it was just a lie _.  _ Everything you’ve said.”

Dean watches from the floor. His strength is finally returning to him a bit, but he stays down for fear that Bartholomew or the Qareen will notice him. All he knows is that he needs to find his gun and get that heart from Bartholomew.

“You and I are not so different, Castiel. How hypocritical it is for you to speak to me of  _ white magic _ when you’ve used your magic to kill before, as well!” Bartholomew laughs. “Any coven—even  your own mother’s—would be horrified at you for falling in love with a hunter, of all people, especially one that has killed so many of our kind. But I can see past that, Castiel. I see your true beauty, in a way that a  _ hunter _ never can. Dean Winchester will always see you as a monster, Castiel. I see you as an equal.” 

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of my relationship with Dean,” Castiel growls. “My mother would be even more disgusted if I’d sided with a witch like you. She’d detest everything about you, just like I do,” Castiel spits.

“And that’s why you need me. While you and your mother preach of using magic for wholesome purposes, I’m using magic to better myself. What’s the point of magic if not to use our talents to take what we want?”

“Simple. Magic is not a weapon designed to hurt or a tool only for good. Magic is whatever we make of it. You chose to make it something evil—to hurt and kill—because you are an evil person.”

Dean sees Cas start to move and realizes that his magical dilution spell is still in effect. Bartholomew notices, too, and reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out the Qareen’s heart. “Careful, Castiel. There are still two of us, and while I imagine you could hold your own...” Bartholomew turns to Dean with a mocking grin and squeezes the heart, “I doubt Dean will last much longer.”

“Dean!” Cas cries out in warning as his doppelgänger turns towards Dean. Bartholomew throws Cas back into the wall with a flick of his wrist while Dean scrambles to his feet, narrowly avoiding the Qareen slamming its fist down on the chair Dean was just in, shattering it to pieces.

Before the Qareen can change course, Dean lunges at Bart, who is preoccupied with Castiel, and manages to knock him over. Dean struggles to snatch the heart out of his hand while Bartholomew violently kicks and squirms to push Dean off of him. With luck, Dean swings his hand with one last surge of energy and the heart goes flying out of Bart’s grasp, landing a few feet away from the commotion.

“This ends now, you sonuvabitch,” Dean growls victoriously as he leaps towards the heart now lying on the floor.

“ _ Abite!” _

The burst of magic from the spell Bartholomew screams sends Dean flying back, and he hits the floor with a heavy thud that once again knocks the breath out of him.

Dean’s vision blurs, and he realizes that he’s lost his brief grasp on the heart. Strong hands pin him down and he looks up to see Cas right above him, but not his Cas, the Qareen. Dean can only lie limp on the floor; all the energy in his body is gone, used up in that last-ditch effort to try and stop the Qareen.

Bartholomew enters Dean’s field of vision, chest puffed out as he cruelly stares down at Dean. “How fitting that you’ll have your heart ripped out of your chest right before Castiel’s eyes.”

The Qareen pulls its arm back, balling its hand— _ Cas’ hand _ —into a fist. Dean looks one last time to Cas, who is still straining to move, then closes his eyes to await the inevitable.

A sharp whistle slices the air and Dean’s eyes fly open to see that the Qareen has frozen mid-punch. Dean tries to look past the shapeshifter and sees Benny standing in the doorway. Benny’s face is bloody, and he looks weak, like his legs could buckle at any moment. But in one hand he holds the Qareen’s heart and in the other is the knife Dean dropped earlier. 

“No. No! How are you still alive?” Bartholomew snaps. Bartholomew raises his hand, no doubt preparing a spell, but Benny just smirks.

“This is for Andre,” Benny taunts as he squeezes the heart before stabbing it with the knife. The Qareen screams and clambers desperately to its feet, but then stands as if paralyzed.

“What have you done?” Bartholomew screams, blowing Benny back into the wall. Benny hits it hard, but as Dean pushes himself off the floor, Benny digs the knife through the Qareen’s heart. A bright light emanates from the heart and Dean watches as the Qareen begins to spasm in front of him.

It screams, and Dean wants to cover his ears but can’t, so he just stares in wonder as the Qareen starts to deteriorate, its body disintegrating into an almost mist. The mist swirls around itself in a vortex and Dean sees a bright blue light right at the base of its throat. The screams stop as the Qareen disintegrates entirely and implodes, the mist absorbed into that flashing blue light that slowly fades out.

Everyone is silent, but Dean knows that it’s gone. Benny killed it for good.

Dean looks over and sees Benny is grinning, practically beaming.

“We did it brother,” Benny says, voice raspy.

“No,” Bartholomew snarls. “No! This is all your fault!” Dean tries to get to cover, but it’s too late. Bartholomew clasps his fists tightly and Dean feels that same constricting force around his neck, but even stronger this time. It’s like he can feel Bartholomew’s anger in the force squeezing every mote of oxygen out of him. “ _ Sit angebant, et non morietur!” _

Though his hands are free, there’s nothing for him to grasp at to save himself. All he can do is look at Cas, still struggling to break from Bartholomew’s paralysis spell, and Benny, who is gasping for air just like Dean.

“You two have been a big enough pain in my side. Especially you, Dean Winchester.”

“Bartholomew, let them go!” Cas shouts.

Bartholomew ignores him, instead squeezing his hands even tighter. Dean’s not sure how much longer he’ll last like this, but he’s more concerned for Benny, whose face is looking redder by the second.

“All you had to do was die, Dean. Then none of this would’ve happened. Castiel would’ve been mine. But instead, you chose to be selfish and cling to someone you didn’t deserve. And now I’ll have to kill you and then wipe Castiel’s memory again and again and again until there’s not a single memory of you left for him to remember!”

“Stop!”

Power like a strong gust of wind blowing on a dry day fills the room, enough that Bartholomew is pushed back. The hold on Dean fades away and Dean coughs as he sucks air into his burning lungs. When he looks up he’s almost shocked into not breathing again as he watches Cas stand tall.

Cas’ eyes are glowing a radiant blue and the air is static, crackling with what Dean assumes is Castiel’s magic.

Benny is passed out from what Dean can see, but he only takes a quick glance before turning back to Cas, who is inching closer to Bartholomew.

“What is this? How are you doing this?” Bartholomew questions. Dean can see fear in Bartholomew’s gaze for the very first time. He tries to take another step back, but Dean knows he can’t escape. Something about Cas and the bitter glare he’s levied at Bartholomew makes it clear that this is the end.

“I doesn’t matter. All that matters now is putting an end to this madness you created.” The air crackles again with power; it’s electrifying. The hairs on Dean’s arm stand on end, and the windows of the restaurant shatter as Castiel raises his hands.

“Don’t do this, Castiel. We could be a team. You and I,” Bartholomew pleads.

“No more. You deserve only one thing, Bartholomew, and that’s death.”

Bartholomew sneers and lets the last of the fear in his body and expression fade away. “Fine. Then I will just have to kill you all. If I can’t have you, then no one will!  _ Cruciatus letumque. Crucianti _ !”

Purple shines through Bartholomew’s veins and Dean wonders if this is the essence of his magic, just like Castiel’s.

“ _ Izazaz piadph, alcrete avavago _ !”

Bartholomew doesn’t have a chance to utilize his spell before Cas overwhelms him, the runes on his arm glowing with the same blueish-white light as his eyes while the magic builds in his hands. It all happens in a flash: Cas flings his arms out towards Bartholomew, the magic radiating off him in blinding strikes of lightning. Dean closes his eyes and covers them with his arm to further shield them. Even in that brief second of exposure, he could feel an immediate burn in his retinas from the brightness. His body is hot like he’s standing next to a campfire.  

He hears screaming, he hears destruction, he hears the magic.

It all lasts for a few brief seconds, but then the light fades and the noise stops as quickly as it came.

When he lowers his arm and opens his eyes, he sees Cas standing, panting heavily, as his arms fall weakly to his side. The restaurant is almost entirely destroyed. The entire back of the  place is gone, torn and shattered to pieces by Cas’ magic and maybe even Bartholomew’s. Benny is slouched, still unconscious, and Dean prays that he’s still alive.

Bartholomew is gone. There’s nothing left of him. Not a bone or even a drop of blood.

Castiel collapses to the ground and Dean pushes through the pain to stand and run to Cas. Falling to his knees next to the witch, Dean picks Cas up and cradles his head.

“Cas! Cas!” Dean yells. Cas’ eyes are closed and he’s deathly pale. Horrified, Dean wonders how much all of this magic took out of him. “C’mon, Cas. You gotta come back to me, alright. We made it this far. You can’t leave me now.”

Dean struggles not to give in to panic when Cas doesn’t open his eyes, and he holds Cas tighter.

He’s almost about to yell Cas’ name again when Cas opens his eyes, blue as ever, and focuses on Dean. They’re silent for a moment as time halts around them.

“Dean… are you alright?” Cas asks, voice even raspier than usual.

“A few bruised ribs and broken bones, but I’ll survive,” Dean laughs, trying to shrug off and hide the emotion now. “What about you?”

“Tired. That last spell used up most of my magic, and I imagine that this is what it feels like to be hit by a bus,” Cas answers dryly. Dean grins, happier now than he can recall being in… who knows, and all because of Cas’ dry wit.

“I thought I lost you, Cas.”

“I’m still here, Dean, and so are you.”

Another sharp whistle snatches their attention and Dean turns over to see Benny, standing but barely. He’s bloodied, bruised, and looks ready to fall apart, but he’s alive and that’s all that matters to Dean.

The moment is broken when hurried footsteps sound out through the now-destroyed restaurant. When Dean turns to shield Cas, still too weak to defend himself, he’s relieved to see that it’s Garth, of all people.

“Garth?” Benny quirks a puzzled eyebrow as he limps towards the deputy.

“Really didn’t mean to—uh—follow you, but I had a bad feeling.”

Benny, despite his evident pain, grins and chuckles. “You sonuvabitch.”

Garth smiles, but it fades as quickly as it comes and Dean gets a bad feeling. “Hate to cut the moment short for everyone, but we only got about five minutes before this place is crawling with cops, so you all best get out of here.”

Garth doesn’t have to say any more. Dean forces himself up, and throws Cas’ arm around his shoulder. None of them are in any shape to walk, much less drive, but Dean figures he can make it just a few minutes longer. He’s imagining a nice, comfortable bed right now, or even a couch. Answering questions about what just happened isn’t on the menu.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Benny,” Garth shouts as he moves to support Benny and pull him out of the building.

Dean nods and turns to Cas who looks at him tired and weak, but alive.

“Let’s go home, Cas.”

The word slips out so easily that he almost doesn’t notice. But it’s true. Cas is his home. He’s spent these last few years wandering from case to case, but deep down he knows it’s true. Cas doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. The smile and glow in his blue eyes is all Dean needs to see.

He’s home with Cas, and Cas is home with him. 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean’s hesitant to leave Benny with Garth, but there’s not much he can do about it. All three of them are in bad shape, and having Garth vouch for Benny and his injuries will keep there from being more questions than answers. He helps Cas into the Impala before returning to Garth,  who’s just finished helping Benny into his own car.

“You sure you’re alright with this? You’re not the least bit concerned about what went down in there?” Dean can’t help but ask.

“Between you and me, I’ve always thought something weird was goin’ on with Bart. Even though I don’t know what the hell happened in there, I can’t say I’m surprised Bart was involved.” That doesn’t really answer his question, and Dean lets his expression show that. Garth, however, doesn’t seem to notice or care if he does and just grins. “Don’t worry. I’ll take right good care of Benny. I’ll tell the sheriff Benny got hurt in a home repair accident. You just get Cas home safe and sound.”

He hears the sirens blaring in the distance and he knows they’ve got to go now.

“Alright. Thanks, Garth,” Dean says as he backs up towards the Impala.

Garth nods and that’s the last Dean sees of them as he jumps in the Impala and throws the car into drive, speeding out and away from the destroyed restaurant.

Cas is silent as Dean drives the Impala back to his house. There was rejoicing and elation when they survived Bartholomew’s last-ditch effort to kill him, but now there’s silence and the lack of anything to say leaves Dean feeling embittered and helpless. He grips the steering wheel tight as they make their way in the opposite direction of the wreckage and the sirens.

He should know how to comfort Cas. But then again, how can he? He’s not the one who had to kill someone he thought cared about him. He’s also not the one who just learned that the same person—who he thought he could trust—turned out to be a psychotic murderer. Dean hates Bartholomew and he’ll never deny he’s glad he’s dead and, hopefully, rotting in hell somewhere. But he hates the damage this has to have done to Cas, especially by being the one who dealt the death stroke.

It’s another blow seeing Cas bruised and broken. His skin is still pale and his face is unreadable. Dean can see behind the mask, see the burden that Cas is carrying in his tired eyes. Cas is strong, both physically and emotionally, but Dean also knows Cas’ heart and that he cares for humanity a lot. Cas been through so much in just a few days that Dean wonders how he’s still standing.

“How ya holdin’ up?” he asks, turning to Cas as they turn onto a familiar street.

Cas doesn’t say anything, and Dean simply turns back to the road, giving Cas the space he silently asks for.

Dean’s still at a loss for what to do when they get back to Cas’ home. It feels surreal that it’s all just... over.. There’s no more Bartholomew and there’s no more Qareen. And just like so many other cases, the only ones who will know the difference are him and Cas. He counts Benny and maybe Garth, too, but they’re both no doubt still trying to process everything, too.

When they pull up to Cas’, Dean parks the Impala right outside and they both sit there quietly. Internally, Dean takes stock of himself. He’s got cuts, bruises, and a mess of sore bones and muscles from being tossed around by both Bartholomew and the Qareen, but overall, he’s okay. Mentally, his brain is all over the place and he’s got a raging headache. The most prominent thought is wondering just where to go from here. Tired of trudging in mental circles, Dean chooses to focus on Cas, who is still despondent, staring down at the floor.  

“C’mon, Cas. Just tell me you’re alright,” Dean pleads.

Cas’ head snaps up at him, and that indifference dissolves to something like guilt and anger, a fire burning in his eyes now. “Alright? How can I be alright when all of this is my fault?”

A heavy sigh follows, and Dean watches the scowl on Cas’ face melt away, to be replaced by  guilt and remorse. Cas’ eyes are glossy and his lips are upturned in that same way that, for Dean, harkens back to the memory of when he left Cas.

“Cas, none of this is your fault,” Dean tries for comfort.

“How is it not? April, Shane… Daphne. They’re all dead because of me. Because I was too stupid to notice all the signs that something wasn’t right,” Cas says bitterly, eyes pointed down at the ground. “Dean… I should’ve known. The signs that Bartholomew was evil were right there. I just chose to ignore them and it cost people their lives.” Cas turns to him again, and Dean swallows seeing the pain reflected in those bright, blue eyes. “Everything that happened to you… that’s my fault, too.”

Dean swallows and grips the steering wheel tight before huffing. “Yeah, well, if that’s your fault then I guess it’s my fault that you even came here, then, right?” When Cas looks at him, he seems irritable at first, but that changes as Dean stares out his window. God, he hates emotions and emotional conversations. They suck. But he knows he can’t let Cas continue blaming himself.

“Dean, it’s not—”

“Yeah, Cas, it is.” Dean takes a deep breath, hoping that the words fluttering around his brain will come out on their own, so he doesn’t have to think about it. “If I hadn’t abandoned you all those years ago, you wouldn’t even be here. Bart would’ve never found you, and, who knows, maybe that thing wouldn’t have offed so many people. So, if anyone’s taking the blame, it’s me, alright?”

He licks his lips. His jaw is tight again. The Impala, for the first time since he can remember, feels cramped, especially when Cas stares at him, dazed and taken aback.

He buckles under the pressure and throws open the door. “Alright, let’s get you inside.”

“Dean,” he hears Cas call after him, but ignores it. He stops and lets Cas get out of the car and slowly make his way past him before he moves, opting to walk behind Cas to make sure he can walk on his own. Cas moves just fine, but Dean’s thankful for the brief reprieve in the conversation. 

When Cas opens the front door, Dean finally sees the mess that Bartholomew left when he kidnapped Cas. The living room is a disaster: lamps shattered on the floor, pieces of his broken coffee table scattered across the room, and his couch turned on its side, with what look like burns marks scarring it. The rest of the house looks to be in a general state of disarray, but nothing they couldn’t fix up on their own. Dean can only imagine the intense battle of magic that took place.

“Damn. You and Bart did a number on this place,” Dean comments as he steps over broken lamp shards. Dean can sense Cas’ weakness by the way he slowly paces towards the destroyed couch. Dean wonders if magic could repair the damage, but his curiosity quickly gives way to fear that Cas, in his obviously weak and distraught state, will exhaust himself even further by trying to use magic to fix this. So, he beats Cas to it, getting to the couch and turning it back over.

Cas doesn’t hesitate and falls onto the couch, head falling to his chest. “Bartholomew… he caught me by surprise. I had just finished painting the runes on my arms and was preparing to go find you when he showed up. I was still too weak to fight him off and didn’t have enough time to prepare before he knocked me out.” Dean sees him shiver, instinctively scans the destroyed living room for a blanket, and spots it tossed into the kitchen. He grabs and throws it over Cas’ shoulders, letting it hang there until Cas secures the blanket around him with his own hands.

Dean doesn’t sit next to him, instead he opts for crouching in front of Cas, bringing their eyes level with each other. Cas’ eyes are bloodshot and there’s pain—so much pain—behind his blue irises, even more now than before.

“Dean,” Cas sighs. Dean feels his chest ache at the sound of utter defeat in Cas’ voice. The way he says Dean’s name is so despondent and drained. It’s nothing like the Cas he knows and loves.

“Hey, we survived, alright?” It’s a small amount of reassurance, but it’s all he can give Cas in this moment, when Dean can only guess just how lost he feels. “We survived, and we stopped Bart. No one else is gonna die because of him or that thing. We did good, Cas.”

Cas turns to him and just barely smiles before pulling the blanket further around him. Dean debates giving Cas some space, but throws caution to the wind and settles for sitting right next to Cas, where he truly feels like he belongs. They sit in a comfortable silence but there’s still a small gap of space between them that Dean aches to close. He’s just not sure if now is the time.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas starts, looking down, dejected again.

“Cas, we don’t have to do this right now.”

Cas shakes his head slightly. “No. I want to do this now, before we make any decisions. There’s no telling what the future holds for either of us.”

Dean raises an eyebrow nervously, and he immediately wonders if Cas is leaving. “The hell are you talking about? There’s no need to be thinkin’ about the future right now, Cas.”

“Dean… there is. Because… with the hunt complete and Bartholomew dead, I don’t know what reason you have to stay here now. That’s why I wanted to apologize.” Dean could always tell when Cas was lost in deep thought, trying to think of the right thing to say. He gets quiet and stares even more intensely than usual. “Last night with you was everything I wanted. Even after Daphne and even Bartholomew, it’s the first time since we parted ways that I didn’t feel lost. I… hated myself for wanting it as badly as I did, because I wanted to hate you.”

Dean purses his lips and looks around the room, struggling to process the feelings bubbling up inside him.

“Can’t say I blame you for that. I’d have a hard time taking me back, too. But why did you say it was a mistake, then, Cas?”

“Because I was scared.” Cas doesn’t raise his voice or yell. His answer is simple and almost monotonous, as if Dean should have already known it.

“Scared?”

“I was scared of letting you back in, Dean. For two years, I felt like a piece of me was just gone. There wasn’t anywhere I could turn. I was simply lost and empty. When we first met, all those years ago, I had no one. And then, all of a sudden, I had you, and it was like finding a purpose all over again. And then you were gone, too.”

“Cas, that’s my fault,” Dean argues.

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean, it’s not—”

“Cas, stop!” Dean growls, cutting him off. Cas doesn’t attempt to speak again. He just stares at Dean with those big, blue eyes of his and Dean feels like Cas is looking inside him now, inside his soul. “Look, everything I said before, it’s the truth. Everything that happened to you, it’s my fault. You should’ve never been up here in Newport.” There’s a tightness in his chest as he, once again, lets all the pent up emotion out. “I’m the only one who needs to apologize, Cas. I was too stupid to realize that you’re the one for me. Witch, vamp, werewolf, whatever the hell you are or become, I just know that you and I—we’re better of together.” Dean hates apologies, but more than anything he hates seeing— _ hearing _ —Cas apologize as if any of this is his fault. But Dean, he’ll apologize it as many damn times as he needs to make Cas believe in him, and believe in them together, again.

Dean sees the beginnings of a smile form at the corner of Cas’ mouth, and Dean feels a blossom of hope sprout inside. Maybe there is hope for them to make this work, after all.

“God knows, I don’t deserve a second chance after leaving you, Cas. And Bart’s right, I don’t deserve you for all those years you felt you had to hide bein’ a witch from me. But… I want another chance. To do this right and show you that I’m here until the end.”

The look on Cas’ face is picture-worthy, both surprise and an understated elation that Cas obviously tries to hide cross his face. His gaze is glued to Dean still, and Dean wonders what Cas will say. All he knows is that he’s not ready to leave yet. Not without Cas.

“Dean, I… thank you. For everything. It may not mean much because I’m sure there’s a lot we have left to work through, but for what it’s worth… I do still love you.”

_ Love _ .

It’s that word that Dean knows deep down in his soul is all he has for Cas. And hearing it again from Cas’ lips only makes that feeling grow. There’s no more words. Instead, there’s Cas crossing the gap and pulling his and Dean’s lips together. It’s electric, it’s soft, it’s everything that Dean knows he’s been missing for two years.

Everything he’s done in the last two years—mindless sex, hunting, booze—it was all a futile attempt to fill the void in his chest. But it’s Cas kissing him, right here and right now, that lets Dean finally feels full. This is all he’ll ever need. As long as he’s got Cas, he’ll be alright.

When Cas pulls away, Dean keeps his hands gently cradling Cas’ face, grinning.

“I know we got a lot of shit to figure out in the next coupla’ days, but I was thinking that since we’re starting over, maybe I’d stick around for a few days? I’ve still got a few days left over at the B&B, so maybe I can just hang out and keep an eye on things? Maybe I can get to know the real Cas. Magic and everything. If this doesn’t work, then I’ll leave. Go back to hunting  and leave you in peace. I just wanna give this another chance, Cas.”

Cas lets his head fall against Dean’s chest. Cas is bruised and weak, but as far as Dean can tell, more at peace now than he’s been since Dean set foot in Newport.

“I’d like that, Dean.”

Dean moves his arms down to hold Cas, and he figures he could get used to Newport, people and all. After all, he’s got Cas now.

___________________

“Wanna tell me again why we’re going to Pamela’s?” Dean huffs as he shuffles into Cas’ old pickup.

“Because Pamela has been gracious enough to give me an advance while I’m out of work. The least I can do is go pick it up from her,” Cas replies, the eye roll evident in his tone.

“Could’ve done it myself, Cas. You should be resting.”

Cas sighs and starts the engine before pulling out of his makeshift driveway. Dean gets it, though. Cas wants to get out, and he can’t blame him.

The last few days have been quiet, with Cas recuperating in his home while Dean spends most of the day with him, only leaving when he returns to the B&B to use up the last of his time there or gets out to check on Benny. He doesn’t want to force himself into Cas’ space, but he doesn’t enjoy the small downturn of Cas’ smile whenever he leaves.

Personally, Dean’s enjoyed the down time. There’s no hunt to chase after, and for the first time in a while, he’s had a constant companion again. It’s remarkable how he’s already slotted himself into Cas’ daily routine.

When he shows up in the mornings, Cas is already up, drinking a mug of coffee while reading through books, some old spell books and sometimes a new book from the town library. Cas is usually content to just lounge around, and Dean simply joins in. They’ve spent the days either concocting the potions and salves Cas sells to the townspeople or watching whatever junk soap opera comes on the television. It’s been weird learning more about Cas’ witch heritage as they brew witchy recipes together, but seeing the money Cas makes selling this stuff around town is a huge incentive to learn it. Cas really wouldn’t even need the money from Jesse’s if he could do this full time. 

More than anything, though, he listens to Cas talk about his past. He learns about Cas’ mother, his old coven, and stories of when he first learned magic. In return, Dean tells him about his memories of his mother, and even a few stories of the not-so-great years without Cas. 

They make their way to Jesse’s in silence, the mid-afternoon sun hanging high in the sky. Cas’ radio is busted, and Dean’s been meaning to fix it. He and Cas still haven’t talked about what happens when his time at the B&B is up. All he knows is that it’s going to be a nightmare leaving Cas again.

“How is Benny doing?” Cas asks, finally breaking the silence.

“He’s doin’ fine. He’s using that stuff you gave him. Think he’s ready to get back to work, though. Guy doesn’t like to sit still.”

Cas hums in amusement. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Dean’s ventures out to Benny’s are a welcome change. Dean delivers whatever potion Cas concocts to hasten his healing and they’ll usually talk or hang out for an hour or so over a couple of beers. Dean’s still in awe of just how well Benny’s been handling everything. Benny chalks it up to the closure he’s gotten. Good or bad, Benny’s just glad to know Andre’s killer has been brought to justice.   

“You seem distracted,” Cas notes, turning to Dean with that analyzing look in his eyes.

“What? Nah I’m fine,” Dean answers, probably too fast if the unconvinced way Cas stares at him is any indication.

He sticks with the lie, even though he’s sure Cas knows. There’s a reason he hasn’t been to Benny’s today, and it’s why he may not go tomorrow, either. 

Benny gave him the option of joining the Newport police force.

_ “Be real nice to have you around, brother. Think you’d make a mighty fine officer taking Andre’s spot.” _

_ “I… uh… appreciate the offer, but I don’t know if that’s for me, Benny.” _

_ “Just think about it, Dean.” _

And he’s done just that. The offer still buzzes around in his head, but he hasn’t told Cas yet. Despite the comfort he feels being here with Cas again, he’s still afraid to overstep his boundaries.

“Did Benny mention anything about what the police are saying about the Bayside?”

Dean shrugs. “He hasn’t said much. He doesn’t think they’ve made the connection between what happened at the Bayside and Bart, though. Garth told him they’re chalking it up to a gas leak.” Cas scrunches his face and Dean can already sense the question that’s coming next. Cas tries to swallow the question down, but Dean goes ahead and answers it. “Nothin’ new about Bart. Benny says the police went through his house and everything. They’re just thinking he up and left.”

Cas nods, but keeps his eyes focused on the road.

Bartholomew’s sudden disappearance has made the local news for a few days, and each time, Cas shows some signs of regret when watching the report. Dean’s not sure how to classify the occasional despondency Cas exudes. He figures maybe it’s guilt for not realizing sooner, but he always assures Cas that he did a good thing by killing Bart.

They make it to Jesse’s with no further words between them, and walk inside together, where the lunch crowd is already seated. Cas goes immediately to the bar and Dean follows suit. Pamela is all smiles as they stroll up.

“Well, look who it is. Been missin’ you, Castiel.” She turns to Dean and winks. “You too, cutie.”  

“It’s good to see you, too, Pamela. How has everything been?” Cas inquires as he takes a seat at the bar.

“Just fine. The newbie I hired is learning pretty quick. Think he’ll be up to speed by the end of the week. More importantly, how are you two feeling?”

Dean’s a little surprised to be included, but he flashes his usual grin. “Just peachy.”

Pamela nods. “Castiel, I forgot your check in the back. Mind running to grab it real quick?”

“Of course.” Cas turns to Dean—almost as if he’s seeking permission—and Dean shrugs before Cas wanders off behind the bar.

When he’s out of sight, Pamela turns to Dean, grabbing a glass to dust off before filling it with beer on tap and sliding it his way. “So, Bart and that thing are all done and taken care of, huh?”

Dean nearly chokes on his next breath the moment the question comes out of her mouth.

“I—uh—wouldn’t know.”

Pamela laughs, but nothing about her seems surprised at his act of ignorance. “Don’t worry, hon. I know the real deal. You’re not really an FBI agent. You’re a hunter and Bart was a witch. A pain in the ass witch, at that.”

Dean takes a sip of his beer to give himself time to get his thoughts in order.

“So, you knew the whole time?”

Pamela chuckles and points to her brain. “Psychic, hon. I’ve known about you and Castiel ever since you both came to Newport, Dean Winchester.” It’s still a little off-putting to hear his name from someone here that’s not Cas or Benny, but he shrugs it off. “It’s one of the reasons Castiel and I get along so well.”

“So… you knew the whole time, about Bart and the Qareen, and didn’t say anything?” Dean says, a hint of anger flashing through his eyes.

Pamela doesn’t seem to mind the anger, or if she does, she hides it well behind a smirk. “I didn’t know until it was too late. Bartholomew kept a ward up. I never thought anything of it because—even for psychics—some people are just harder to read than others.” Pamela’s smile finally fades and he sees the regret and frustration in her expression. “It never clicked until I saw the way Bart was around you. Something about you just fired Bart up. It was the only time he dropped his guard enough for me to get a read on him, and that’s when I felt that malice and jealousy. There wasn’t much I could do, though, being that Bart was a witch and I’m just a psychic.”

Dean nods while gulping down more beer. “Yeah, well, turns out Bart wasn’t real big on sharin’ Cas. Tried to kill anyone he thought was an obstacle.”

Pamela sighs as she braces herself against the bar. “Figured as much. Poor April. She had a thing for Cas. He never returned it, though. Hate that her one little crush got her killed.”

“God rest her soul. But, you don’t have to worry about Bart anymore. He’s long gone. Just, uh, keep that to yourself.”

Pamela makes a zip motion and smiles again. “Lips are sealed. I think the better question now is:  what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

Pamela shakes her head before she leans in close. “C’mon, cutie. I see how Castiel is around you. Castiel never exactly told me much about the bad breakup that brought him up here, but it doesn’t take much clairvoyance to figure out when someone has a broken his heart, and it takes even less to see when a broken heart is magically mended again.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means that I know you’re what Castiel needs. Poor thing hasn’t been chipper much since he got here. He tries to hide it, but I saw how he was with you. Even when he seems to be irritated, he’s happy to see you.”

Dean stares down at the bar, away from Pamela’s scrutinizing gaze, and sighs. “Yeah, well, I’m kinda the reason he had his heartbroken in the first place.”

Pamela shrugs. “So, what? You grew up, and so did he. If Castiel forgave you then why dwell on the past?”

Dean can’t very much argue against her, so he avoids her question entirely and circles back to the first. “Hadn’t really thought much of what I’d do afterwards. Told Cas we should try again, and hadn’t thought much past that.”

“Well, just my two cents, but you should take the job offer.” Dean’s eyes go wide, but she shakes her head and laughs again. “Psychic.”

“Oh, right.”

“Just follow your heart, Dean. Take the job. You and Castiel, you give off good vibes together, and I’m not sure I can handle him being all mopey and depressed again. Besides, two cuties for me are better than one.”

Right at that moment, Cas walks out from behind the bar and looks between the two of them suspiciously. Dean swallows, wondering if Cas had heard any of it, but when he looks at Pamela she’s just smiling, even as Cas walks up to them.

“Took you awhile,” she comments.

“The check wasn’t in a very easy-to-find spot,” Cas accuses. Dean hazards that this probably isn’t the first time Pamela has left his check in a hidden spot.  

“Damn, I thought I had moved it, too. Well, it gave me a chance to get to know your friend, Dean, here.”

Castiel seems just as perturbed to hear Dean’s name from Pamela as Dean was, but it fades just as quickly. “That’s… good.”

“Anyways, glad you’re feeling better, Castiel. You take a few more days off.”

“Thank you, Pamela.” Cas turns to Dean with that same suspicious look, but he relents just slightly. “Are you ready to go, Dean?”

“Yeah, think I’m feelin’ some lunch. Let’s find some place to eat.”

Cas nods and waves goodbye to Pamela before making his way out of the bar while Dean gets up to follow behind him.

“Talk to him, Dean,” Pamela calls after him. Dean pretends like he can’t hear her, but her advice rings loud and clear in his head.

___________________

They settle on a small mom-and-pop sandwich shop a little ways into town, and seat themselves outside since the sun is out and the chill is mild.

Dean digs into his food while Cas sits for a little while, just watching when Dean looks up at him.

“You gonna eat, Cas?”

“Yes, I’m just thinking is all.”

“Yeah, well, eat first and think later. Your food’s getting cold.”

Cas snorts, but obliges Dean by eating a few of his fries. They sit and eat in silence for several minutes, but Pamela’s words still bother Dean. He takes another bite of his sandwich, trying to swallow down Pamela’s thoughts with it.

“What were you and Pamela talking about?”

And of course, as soon he tries to forget it, Cas brings it right back up.

“Nothin’ much. She, uh, was telling me about you and her being all psychic-witch buddies and how she knew I wasn’t really FBI.”

“Dean,” Cas chides, obviously trying to coerce more out of him.

“It wasn’t much, Cas. I swear.”

Cas sighs and rolls his eyes before fiddling with a few more fries. He doesn’t touch his sandwich and Dean takes pity on him.

“How’re you feelin’?”

The question takes Cas by surprise as he looks up from his food, but he tamps down on the surprise with a shrug.

“I’m alright. I have much more strength today than before. I imagine I will be back to normal very soon.”

“Well, that’s good. But it’s not just that, Cas. I mean everything. With all that’s happened. How are you?”

Cas inhales and exhales a deep breath and swallows, and Dean watches Cas frown, his brow creasing as he falls into deep thought. When Cas doesn’t talk, Dean isn’t surprised. It’s been a lot for Cas to take in and it’s nothing that he expects Cas to process even in the span of a few days.

“I don’t know,” Cas finally says, grabbing Dean’s full attention even as he chews down a bite of his sandwich. “It’s just hard to think about all the people who died because of me.”

Dean chews and swallows the bite of sandwich, wiping the mayo from his face. “Well, let me stop you there. They didn’t die ‘cause of you. They died because Bart was a deranged lunatic who was obsessed with you.”

“I know that. It still doesn’t take away the guilt.”

“Just give it time. It’ll pass. You just gotta remember that you saved a lot of people, Cas. Benny and me included. There’s no telling how many others Bart woulda killed if you hadn’t stopped him. You’re pretty much a hero.”

That seems to bring a tiny uptick at the corner of Cas’ lips and he looks away bashfully. “Thank you, Dean.”

Somehow Dean finds himself grinning without even realizing it, and quickly shoves another bite of his sandwich in his mouth to cover it.

“How much longer do you have at the bed and breakfast?” Cas asks curiously. The question comes out of nowhere, but Cas is gazing intently at him which reminds Dean of the fact that he’s got tonight and that’s it. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until now.

“Uh, one night actually. Guess after that I gotta figure out what to do.” Cas nods and once again Pamela’s words ring out in his head. Somehow, he knows that this the moment he’s been both expecting and dreading. The moment he has to make a choice of leaving or staying.

“Something wrong, Dean?”

Dean swallows down the last bite of his sandwich before sitting back in his seat, debating whether or not to tell Cas the truth. When Cas tilts his head in that weird, little, confused way, Dean decides to just let it out. 

“Benny offered me a job.”

“Oh,” is all Cas says, seeming mildly surprised.

Dean quirks an eyebrow curiously. “Oh? That’s it.” Cas turns away, doing a poor job of hiding his discomfort, just like he normally does when he’s trying to lie. Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Cas takes a moment to answer, but slowly nods his head. “Benny asked me before he extended the offer to you. It seems he’s aware of some things.”

“Things?” Dean repeats.

Cas sighs. “My feelings for you. It’s obvious he became aware of our past throughout everything that’s happened in the last few days, but apparently, he’s more than aware of how we still feel for each other.”

Something about the way Cas says that amuses Dean, and he relaxes back into his seat, grinning like a loon. Smug, but happy. “Oh yeah? How do you feel about me?”

“Dean,” Cas mutter in warning, narrowing his eyes in that petulant manner that Dean secretly enjoys about Cas.

“C’mon, Cas. Tell me how you really feel?”

Cas huffs, looking down before finally looking up at Dean. There’s no irritation in his expression anymore, and Dean’s not quite sure how to prepare for what Cas is about to say.

“You are infuriating sometimes. You can be stubborn and pigheaded, and I sometimes think back to that morning when you left.” Dean feels like the air is thinning around him. Breathing becomes a chore as he waits for Cas’ next words. “But… you are kind and loving, and you’ve put my life ahead of yours this entire time. And having you back has been… very enjoyable. I…  don’t want you to leave again.”

“Cas…”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts. “I would very much like you to take the job and stay here in Newport… with me.”

Like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, everything suddenly clicks into place. Dean thinks about the last two years and all of it, feelings and memories, comes rushing back to him. The loneliness, the yearning, and the disappointment… he remembers them all. And then he remembers seeing Cas for the first time, when he sat there in the middle of Jesse’s bar, bleeding out.

He had hope. Even when he and Cas were walking on eggshells with one another, it felt right. Dean knows where his place is.

“Dean… Dean,” Cas calls out, grabbing his attention.

Dean looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“You zoned out. I… was just saying, I don’t want you to feel pressured into staying, if that’s not what you want.”

Dean chuckles and sits forward. “You kidding me?” Cas’ eyes are wide with apprehension, but Dean just grins. “Course I’ll stay. I kinda think you’re stuck with me now.” The ease returns to Cas and settles into that warm smile Dean’s been missing for all these years. There’s a warmth that pools in the pit of his stomach, and it’s probably the best feeling he’s had in a long time. “Look, I know we have a lot to work on, Cas, but… just know I won’t leave you again.”

Cas surprises him by reaching across the table and covering Dean’s hand with his own. There’s no magic, but somehow Dean feels like he can feel Cas: his soul, his magic, everything. It can’t be real, but yet it’s how he’s feeling. It’s just further validation that he’s making the right decision.

“I believe you, Dean.”

Dean’s not sure what to call them just yet. What they have, break-up or not, is far beyond what any couple has. But seeing Cas happy with him, he’ll just have to worry about the labels a bit later.

“So… you got any magic spells to make a police officer? Don’t exactly got the right paperwork, and I definitely need a job so I’m not the deadweight in this relationship,” Dean laughs.

Cas smiles. “I think I can work something out.”

Dean grins and realizes that he was right about what he said to Cas in the Bayside.

He’s home.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Five Months Later_ **

Dean’s phone blares loudly, pulling him out of what had been a pleasant dream. He reaches over and angrily grabs it to see who dares to call him on his day off. When Sam’s name pops up he mutters a few curses before hitting answer.

“Sammy,” Dean greets, making no attempts to mask his gravelly, sleep-deprived tone.

“Geez, you’re not up yet?” Sam teases.

“I was up late last night, so bite me,” Dean bites back.

He hears Sam’s amused snort and he groans. “Well, I was calling to let you know that I’m about three hours out from Newport. Should be there before long.”

“You couldn’t get on the road at a normal time?”

“Had nothing better to do. Beats sitting around all day, right?” Dean can easily imagine the shrug of indifference Sam is probably doing right now.  

Cas mumbles beside him with his face buried in his pillow. He’s probably awake, but not enough to pay attention to his conversation. If anything, Cas is probably actively trying to tune them out.

“Alright, well, I’ll let Cas know and we’ll see ya in a bit. Also next time you decide to drive at ass o’clock in the morning, text me.”

“Whatever you say, jerk.” 

“Bitch,” Dean grumbles back. Sam hangs up and Dean tosses his phone back on the nightstand before turning to Cas, who tosses a bit to get comfortable and potentially drift back to sleep, if Dean will let him.

“Who’s that?” Cas mumbles, words barely coherent enough to understand, yet Dean somehow gets it all.

“Sam. Says he’s about two hours out,” Dean answers before yawning and stretching.

Cas mumbles something else; it’s too soft for Dean to understand, but he’s grinning all the same. Rays of early morning sun barely filter through the window in Cas’ bedroom. He and Cas both are running on about four hours of sleep,  between Dean finishing his shift at the station and visiting Cas at Jesse’s while he was closing. The real factor, though, had been the two rounds of sex that had kept them up well past two in the morning. He’s naked and sore in all the right places.

Cas is a furnace next to Dean as he floats in that weird in-between state of being asleep and awake. Dean’s learned that Cas is still definitively not a morning person. He’d just fall back to sleep if Dean let him. Hell, he’d sleep the whole day away if he could. It’s one of the reasons Cas enjoys working the evening shift at the bar.

A wicked thought pops into Dean’s head and he knows Cas won’t mind, even if it wakes him up. Cas’ naked body is pressed against him, exciting Dean as he knows Cas will be more than pleased with the surprise he’s got planned for them now.

He snuggles even closer to Cas, who mumbles as he shifts to the side, back pressing into Dean’s chest, no doubt feeling Dean’s growing erection. Dean feels a lazy smirk stretch across his face and he reaches over, feeling for Cas’ cock. There’s a small gasp from Cas when Dean grips it just tight enough.

In the five months that he’s officially called Newport home, he’s learned Cas all over again. In many ways, he feels like he’s finally learned the Cas he never gave a chance to before. He’s watched Cas perform spells for a variety of mundane things such as fixing furniture or growing flowers in his garden. He’s watched him mix together the herbal potions that he sells to people in town. Hell, he’s even learned to make a few of his own when Cas is stuck at the bar.

Cas has even begun attracting people from outside Newport. Word seems to have spread about the witch doctor of Newport, and Cas has no qualms using his powers for good—and to pay the bills, as well. 

But there’s something about this, learning Cas’ body all over again, that’s incredibly satisfying. He enjoys Cas quivering against him as he gives an experimental tug on his cock, and drinks in that deep, gravelly moan that falls from his lips. Cas gets hard in his hand, and Dean leans over and kisses Cas’ neck, trying to ensure that Cas won’t say no to his morning exercise.

“Mornin’, Cas,” Dean whispers, lips gently pressed against Cas’ ear.

Cas exhales as Dean gives another gentle tug on his cock.

“Dean, it’s… too early for this,” Cas complains, voice lacking the stern refusal Dean would expect if he was truly against it.

“Couldn’t resist. ‘Sides, when are we gonna have time when Sam shows up? I won’t be able to touch you like this for at least a week.” Dean had considered traumatizing Sam by being every bit as handsy with Cas as he normally is during his visit, but he’d prefer to keep Sam visiting them as often as he can, so he had agreed to tone down the PDA. 

The smell of Cas’ musk in the morning, though, is an aphrodisiac that he can’t get enough of. He can’t help himself and kisses and nips at the skin along Cas’ neck. Cas doesn’t shrug him off, letting Dean know that he’s onboard, despite his prior protests. Dean’s hand is still wrapped around Cas’ now fully erect cock, but finds himself so enamored with kissing Cas that he neglects jerking him off.

“If you’re going to make me get up, we should be cleaning the house. The kitchen is a disaster, and I’d rather that not be the first thing your brother sees,” Cas grumbles, squirming as Dean kisses all those spots he knows are sensitive.

“We can clean up afterward. Won’t take too long for what I got planned, anyways.”

Cas hums. “And what might that be?”

Dean smiles, letting go of Cas’ cock and propping himself up so that he can see Cas’ lazy smile. 

“Figure I could get some morning exercise in and ride you. Think you’re up for that?” he teases, winking at Cas, earning him an eye roll and snort of amusement.

“I’ll never say no to that,” Cas laughs. Dean watches Cas look over at the alarm clock before turning to him with a slight trace of disappointment in his eyes. “Since we don’t have long before your brother arrives, I suggest we skip the foreplay.”

Dean makes a mock pouty face before throwing one leg over Cas’ body and straddling him, the blanket draped over his back almost like a cape. “Aww. You getting me all prepped and ready is the best part.”

Cas sits up and brings his and Dean’s lips together. Cas’ peach fuzz tickles and burns, but Dean savors it, knowing that Cas will shave it all off today. Hell, he’s so enamored that even their morning breath, stale with the lingering taste of alcohol, isn’t that off-putting. 

“I seem to remember someone being impatient last night after their first orgasm came solely from being fingered. If I recall correctly, you said something to the effect of ’next time skip the damn foreplay and just fuck me’,” Cas pesters, beaming up at Dean.

“Hey, I didn’t see you complaining about my demands last night. Now you gonna fuck me or what? We wait much longer and Sam’ll come knockin’ down the door before we’re finished, and I don’t think I can handle choosing between traumatizing him and stopping in the middle.”

Cas kisses him again, managing to wrap an arm around Dean and cradling the back of Dean’s head with his hand, pushing Dean deeper into the kiss.

Cas’ kisses are intoxicating, and it takes everything just for Dean to blindly fumble around behind him to grip Cas’ cock, standing at full attention. Cas moves with want—obviously desperate to be inside Dean—which has him laughing into Cas’ mouth. Cas is patient with everything but sex.

“Lube?” Dean says.

Cas huffs and holds his hand out. “ _ Exsto _ .” Their usual half-used bottle of lube and a condom sits in the palm of his hand.

“Did I say a condom?” Dean says, pinning Cas with an eyebrow raise. He leans down and kisses Cas before pulling back just a little. “Wanna feel you all the way inside me today.”

Cas snorts, amused, but hands him both the lube and condom. “Tempting, but that would be an added mess that I don’t think we have the time to deal with.”

Dean finds himself pouting again, but takes the lube and condom anyways. “Spoilsport.”

“You’ll thank me later, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Dean rips the condom pack open and slowly massages it down over Cas’ cock. The only thing that stops his further pouting for not getting his way is watching Cas’ eyes shut tight as Dean strokes him. Cas hands are on Dean’s hips, his fingers digging into Dean’s flesh, creating a familiar, welcome burn through Dean’s body. He flips the top on the lube and pours a generous amount on his hand before reaching back and lathering Cas’ cock up carelessly and sloppily, getting some on the bed in his impatience.

He doesn’t realize just how much he’d been stroking Cas until Cas grabs his hand to stop him. “Dean…” he groans, his cheeks are flushed and his hair wild as though he’s post-orgasm already.

Dean chuckles and decides to help Cas out by gripping the base of his cock just hard enough to stave off his rising orgasm. “You were gonna come, huh?” Dean teases, victoriously.

“Dean, if we’re going to do this, we should do so now,” Cas warns, but Dean can see Cas is simply disguising his need to be inside him.

“Geez. So freakin’ impatient.” Dean leans down to kiss him again while using his slick, lube-coated hand to hold Cas’ cock and line it up. “I love it,” he breathes against Cas’ lips. Cas is breathing hard, waiting for the moment Dean sinks down on him. Dean, on his end, feels a rush as Cas’ cock presses at his hole. He breathed slowly as he guides it in, the burn getting stronger the deeper he sinks down on Cas’ cock.

“Dean,” Cas sighs, his eyes shut tight as Dean bottoms out, sitting on top of Cas and not moving while he waits for the burn of the stretch to fade. He and Cas are both breathing hard, in near unison. Cas’ fingers dig even deeper into his side, sure to leave marks that he’ll feel all day. He freaking loves it.

“C’mon, open your eyes, Cas. I know you wanna see this,” Dean taunts. He enjoys riling Cas up, especially in moments like this where it’s always a back and forth of who’s in control.

“Dean… move, please,” Cas whines. Dean smirks and slowly lifts up off Cas’ cock, sinking back down right as Cas’ cock is about to slip free, and moaning loudly when Cas is all the way inside him again.

“Feel good?” Deans questions with a smile on his lips, finding a slow rhythm as he continues spearing himself on Cas’ erection.

Cas struggles to sit up but manages, capturing Dean’s lips in a quick, desperate kiss. Cas’ hands leave Dean’s hips, and when Dean sees a glow from Cas’ hands  he stops the rolling of his hips.

“ _ Iuvat sentio me tibi _ ,” Cas chants as the glow in his hands seems to seep into Dean’s body. Almost instantly, Dean is overcome with a sensation he’s never felt before. It’s as if a wave of pleasure is spilling from him. He feels his body quiver.

“Jesus, Cas. The… fuck’re you doin’?” Dean groans as he tries to move again, angling to somehow get Cas in deeper.

“Wanted to try this,” Cas pants. “A spell… to share our pleasure. You can feel what I’m feeling, and I can feel what you’re feeling.”  

Dean’s been hexed and spelled by witches before, but this… this is unlike anything he’s ever felt. When he sinks down now, he feels Cas thrusting up to meet him, and the feeling of Cas hitting that perfect spot is exhilarating. It almost feels like he’s in the middle of a threesome. Both giving and receiving all at the same time. But it’s even deeper than that. His nerves are singing with an indescribable pleasure. It’s like he can feel truly feel inside Cas and experience the sensations Cas feels.

“F—fuck… never felt… this good,” Dean swears. His head is thrown back, unable to contain the immense pleasure he’s feeling. Cas is swearing and groaning all the same, giving aborted thrusts into Dean, but his own body shivering and shaking as what Dean’s feeling flows through him as well. It’s a perfect mix of the two of them.

Dean’s movements become wild and the muscles in his thighs burn hot and angry as he does everything from bounce and rock to clenching tight around Cas as he tries to push him deeper. Whatever the spell is that Cas is using, the magic sparks through him like a shock, giving him bursts of energy to keep going through the pain. It’s like a drug that Dean can’t get enough of. 

The sensations become too much for him and Cas, who devolves into a litany of curses, some Latin, and some unintelligible sounds and words. Dean isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to have sex normally anymore, not when Cas has given him  _ this _ .

Dean feels his orgasm closing in, and can feel Cas is close, too. Cas’ pleasure courses through Dean, driving him mad with the urge to come for them both. Cas’ hand wraps around Dean’s cock and jerks him off, slowly smearing the leaking droplets of precome across his length.

Cas’ hands jerking him, and Cas’ cock filling him to the brim, is too much and Dean growls as he erupts, come spilling down on them both as Cas continues to jerk him erratically through his orgasm. 

Dean feels dizzy and light-headed, almost like he’s blacked out. His consciousness floats somewhere between alive and in some euphoric heaven, but, slowly, Dean comes back, panting harder, but not as hard as Cas who is trying his best to fuck Dean’s tightness to his own orgasm.

Dean can still feel Cas pleasure, it keeps his cock hard even past his own orgasm. Dean slowly rolls off Cas before reaching over and jerking Cas off, only taking a few strokes before Cas spills all over Dean’s hand and himself. Dean can feel Cas’ orgasm radiate through him like a burst of warmth that fills his entire body. Cas pants beside him, his eyes half-lidded as he comes down. When Cas turns to Dean he smiles, dazed and lazy, but beautiful in Dean’s eyes nonetheless. Dean had no urge to move, and could stay like this forever, but it’s Cas who shifts, closer to Dean.

“So, still think that was a bad idea?” Dean snickers.

“A moderately good idea.”

Dean lies back and sucks in large swath of air before exhaling into the room. He really doesn’t want to move. He’s so righteously exhausted and fucked out that moving almost seems a crime. It’s why he feels almost betrayed when Cas finally sits up and stretches. His nude body glistens with sweat in the dusty sunlight and Dean’s suddenly hit with the stench of sex. He sniffs himself and wrinkles his nose.

“Damn… that’s a stench.”

Cas turns back and laughs. “We should clean up, Dean.”

“Mmm... don’t wanna.”

“Dean.”

Dean sits up and throws the blanket off and sits up. “Fine. But we are totally showering together,” Dean demands.

Cas rolls his eyes, but leans over and presses his lips to Dean’s briefly. Dean has to resist the urge to hold him there again, knowing that if he does, he and Cas will never leave the bed.

“I think I can make that sacrifice.”

___________________

Dean’s amazed that he and Cas manage to get everything done and cleaned up before Sam arrives. It involves Cas using some magic to shift things around a bit faster, but he’s glad for it, especially since Sam shows up right on time. 

The reunion is understated, especially considering that Dean hasn’t seen Sam for several months, but they hug and Dean works in a couple of jokes about the Dodge Charger Sam’s driving. Dean isn’t sure whether the sudden tension came from Sam or Cas, but it’s present when they first come face to face. Maybe it’s the fear of how Sam will react to Cas being a witch? But his fears are quickly put to rest when they embrace like two friends who haven’t seen each other in years would. 

Of course, right as Sam had arrived, Cas had been called across town to deliver a potion. Dean asked if he couldn’t reschedule, but when Cas told him how much he was getting paid for the delivery, Dean wasn’t in a position to say no. On the positive side, it gave him a chance to talk to Sam one-on-one.

“So… you settled down here?” Sam asks, as he pulls a chair to the table in the living room. Dean mixes up batter for some pancakes before pouring them on the skillet heating on the counter. He remembers pulling the skillet out for the first time and seeing it dusty from disuse. Cas’ inability and lack of desire to cook worked well for Dean, allowing him to rediscover his love of cooking now that he had a stable home with a working kitchen.

“Yeah. Cas and I like it here. People are real nice here.”

“And you’re okay… being a cop? Can’t say I expected that to be your dream job,” Sam questions, with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow.

“Hey, it ain’t a bad gig. Nothing really happens around here… well, anymore. And the little old ladies like to invite us in for tea and desserts all the time. Free desserts, Sammy. All the time,” Dean says, grinning wide as he remembers he’s still got a half a cake from Mrs. Baker in the fridge right now.

“It’s not that, Dean. It’s just… we didn’t exactly have the best track record with cops, being hunters and all.”

Dean shrugs as he greases the skillet with butter. “Benny and Cas made it work. Benny pulled some strings with his boss, and Cas just made sure I, uh, magically had the qualifications for the job.”   

“That sounds convenient,” Sam snorts.

“Hey, just one of the few perks of dating a witch.” Dean cranks up the heat before turning back to Sam. “So, you still on track to be a big-shot attorney?”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “Not big time, Dean. I doubt I’ll be anywhere near one of the big firms, or anything like that.”

“Nonsense. You’re, like, a freaking genius. Anyone would be lucky as hell to hire you, and you’re gonna kick ass.”

Sam grins, and Dean pours a cup of coffee, handing it to him before turning back to tend to his pancakes.

“So, are you retired from hunting?”

Dean flips the pancake before dropping it on a plate and starting up another. “Tried. Promised Cas I wouldn’t hunt anymore when I first decided to stay. Took the job with the sheriff’s station in town, and everything. But after about a month or so, I got real antsy. There’s not exactly a whole lot of crime in Newport. So, I worked out a deal with Cas where I pick up a nearby hunt every once in a while. Sometimes Cas’ll come with me.”

“Wow, that’s—uh—kinda cool. Guess you can find love in this life, huh?” There’s something about how Sam ends his sentence that has Dean wondering if he’s skating around the question he really wants to ask. Neither of them have addressed the elephant in the room, but neither Dean nor Cas made any effort to hide Cas’ witch materials. On the coffee table in the small living room are several spell books that Cas has collected and the materials to make his potions sit on a shelf in the kitchen.

“You know you can ask, right?” Dean finally says.

Sam tries not to look suspicious but he fails miserably, and Dean chuckles, amused. Sam pins him with that bitchface Dean’s missed so much.

“Dean… I’m happy for you. I really am. But, isn’t it… I don’t know… a little weird? I mean, Cas is a witch, and you—well—hate anything supernatural. But, now you’re so… unconcerned about it all. It’s like you’re a totally different guy from the one who showed up at my apartment two years ago and nearly drank himself into a coma for three days on my couch while refusing to even say Cas’ name.”

Dean lets Sam’s words sink in, thinking back on just how far he’s come. It’s only been a few months, but already the memories of his break-up with Cas seems almost like a distant memory. Some days, he wonders if Cas still holds any resentment against him for it, but when those thoughts sit in his mind, Cas quells them as though he were a mind reader and kisses them away, replacing fear with comfort.

“Guess I grew up.” When Sam doesn’t look convinced, Dean huffs before pouring out some more pancake batter. He ignores the fact that there’s already a growing stack of golden, fluffy goodness that far eclipses how many even the two of them and Cas could eat. “I don’t know if my views on things like werewolves and vamps has changed at all. Hell, I can’t say I like witches, either. But, Cas… I don’t know… I just know that no matter what he is, he’s got a good heart, and… maybe that’s what matters. Things can be whatever the hell they want. Vamp, werewolf, werepire.” That one earns him a big eye roll. Sam isn’t convinced they exist, but Dean knows they do. “If they’ve got a good heart and aren’t trying to hurt anyone, who am I to judge?”

Sam looks away, but Dean can see the corners of his lips pull up in a smirk. It’s not like he’s looking for Sam’s acceptance, but something about the way Sam turns to him, beaming with what Dean can only describe as pride is… well, heartening.

“You sure you’re the real Dean and not that shapeshifter you were telling me about?”

“Ha-ha, real funny. Wise ass,” Dean grumbles, throwing a dish towel and hitting Sam right in the face.

“Just playing, Dean,” Sam laughs. Dean returns to his pancakes, mostly to hide his amused grin from Sam. He plates a few more pancakes, and debates throwing them in the oven until Cas comes back. “I’m really happy for you, Dean. You and Cas. I’m glad you two worked it out.” Sam’s praise catches him off-guard and Dean pauses, thinking of what to say.

Dean drops some more batter down on the skillet and smirks when he turns back to Sam. “Yeah, I’m glad, too. Cas… he’s a pretty great guy. But, we should be talking about you? Anyone caught your eye yet, down at that fancy law school of yours?”

The lock to the front door clicks, interrupting their conversation, though Sam doesn’t seem upset about that in the least. Both Dean and Sam turn to see Cas walk in, shivering as he closes the door behind him and looking between the two of them curiously.

“Am I interrupting?” Cas questions with a raised eyebrow.

Dean shakes his head and grins. “Nah. Sammy and I were just catching up. Just in time for pancakes.”

Cas’ stomach growls and Dean takes that as a sign that he’s starving, which doesn’t surprise him. Using magic leaves Cas with a fairly large appetite. It’s another reason Dean figures Cas is happy to have him back, since Dean will cook just about anything Cas wants.

“That sounds… delicious,” Cas notes as he walks over to Dean.

It’s so simple and automatic now, how the moment Cas enters Dean’s space they lean in to kiss. It’s autopilot, without a second thought. Dean’s not consciously aware of Sam’s presence again until after Cas pulls away. Internally, Dean panics a bit as he turns to Sam, only to see his little brother looking on, bright-eyed and feigning a look of disgust, but truly amused by them.

“Sam, is there anything you’d like to do today?” Cas asks, grabbing plates and utensils before he moves to sit next to Sam.

“Told him I’d take him around town. Introduce him to the gang. I’m sure Pamela will love him. Benny and Garth, too.”

Cas hums with a small grin and Dean knows Cas is thinking about all the possible ways Pamela will react to Sam, given her track record of hitting on them both shamelessly. 

“I imagine Pamela will be more than happy to meet Sam,” Cas adds with a small laugh.

Dean chuckles as he brings the full stack of pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup over before sitting beside Cas. 

“You guys got me a little scared, here?” Sam interjects.

“Nothin’ to be scared about, Sammy. Pamela’s cool. Total psychic, too. And ain’t too bad on the eyes,” Dean assures, earning him a warning glare from Cas that he returns with a wink.

Sam looks between them and huffs. “Well, actually, I was hoping... if you have time today, Cas, you could—uh—show me some of the potions you make?”

Sam’s request catches them both off-guard and Dean watches Cas go wide-eyed with shock.

“Oh…well… of course. I didn’t think you would be interested in that… being an ex-hunter and all.”

“Are you kidding me, Cas? I mean, my brother’s in love with a witch. There’s some perks I have to take advantage of. And it wouldn’t hurt to pick up a new hobby, either. Law school isn’t exactly cheap.”

When Cas turns to Dean, he can see the relief in Cas’ eyes, and it has Dean beaming inside. His brother accepts Cas just like Dean did. Cas seems to feel it, too, ignoring his pancakes to cover Dean’s hand with his own. Dean rubs his thumb on Cas’ palm, but stops when Sam clears his throat, reminding them both that he’s still here.

“Oh—my apologies, Sam. I would love to show you how to make some of my potions. Dean, you don’t mind, do you?” Cas asks, turning his bright blue eyes to him.

Dean just grins and looks at Sam and back to Cas. He’s got it all right now. It may have taken a homicidal witch and shapeshifter to drag him up here, but in some respects he owes this all to Bartholomew. He has Cas back and now Sam, who’s accepting him and Cas, what they are, and what they have. Two years of misery is well worth the long future he has planned for himself and Cas. Today is just a reminder of that.

“Yeah, Cas. I don’t mind at all.”


End file.
